


The Only Regret I Have is Loving You

by frerardiscool



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-06 20:44:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 50,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1111320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frerardiscool/pseuds/frerardiscool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?'<br/>(Frerard, sexual content, small depictions of violence, and language.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> 'The best revenge is to be unlike who caused the injury.'

_~Prologue: December 1 st-2nd~_  
 _They clanked their jugs together to make a bell noise. They yell of happiness and drunken men erupted through the crowd of frat boys and men who barely are out of college. All of them dreamily roamed the bar, hitting up guys and girls without focus. They pushed the also drunken people against the wall and pecked them. They joined in and then pulled away, wandering off. Most the men were not gay, so the other gays were very independent at the moment. They screamed and hissed at them to come back, but they never did. Most of the people the men were kissing were strapped against their wills. They screamed penetratingly for release not getting any. They inhospitably stuck their tongues in their mouth, exploring the inside of their mouths. They pushed them off, ignorance for the cries they are making toward their direction to which they leave._  
 _Hours and hours go by, and the bar has emptied despite the frat boys and grown men getting drunker and drunker every ten minutes when they finish each bottle until the bar runs out. There are bags under each of the men’s eyes every hour that passes by. They are spilling secrets like a tornado through a very populated city: recklessly. Hours go by and beers are finishing up. The bar closed for the night and they fled to the streets. They wave to people, even though there are no people to wave to. It is five in the morning; all the lights are off except for streetlights. They sneak into a hotel and rent out the whole second floor. Each man shares a bed with another because a lot of men are together, maybe sixty-eight. They moaned, and asked for more beers at room service. No reply, but they still refuse to go to sleep. Time passed by and by six in the morning all of the men are asleep… except for two… it was Frank Iero and Gerard Way._  
 _They cackled maniacally together, in bed. They had no idea what was going on. All they knew was that they loved each other, and they were the ones for each other. They forgot they were both married and have children each. Lindsey and Jamia are still confused on where they are, maybe a show, or at a friend’s house for the night… anything other then they were doing. If they knew that Gerard was back into his drinking and drug problem he wouldn’t be allowed in the house. If they knew this were in the same bed together he wouldn’t be alive. But things have changed since they both got married. They were dating before that, and they still had feelings for each other, they just could never express their true feelings without one of their wives hovering over their shoulders._  
 _“G-Gerard?”_  
 _Frank taunted himself with his hand movements in bed. He picked at his mouth-ring, waiting for Gerard to answer his question. Frank didn’t drink as much as the others. He snapped out of the trance and was now aware of his surroundings and where he was. He was confused and happy, for an unknown reason. Frank knew he was married and had kids. He was fully awake, unlike Gerard who was full on drunk. He felt bad, yes. But Frank was never a big drinker’ maybe one or two if he was ever convinced to. Gerard was not. He thought he remembered Gerard yelling for his tenth jug, but he was not sure of anything at the moment. I mean, who actually knew what happened that night?_  
 _“Yes, my love?”_  
 _Frank purred at the word ‘love’. Jamia had never called him such word to make him feel special. Jamia might have said she loved him once or twice every few days, but Gerard really has some sexiness in his voice that makes him have a chill down his spine. Frank saw the smile start on Gerard’s face, which made him join in. Gerard picked the loose strands of hair in front of Frank’s hair and flicked them back with the rest of the hair. He giggled. Frank didn’t want things to get out of hand. Yes, he liked Gerard, but nothing more than a friendly way. Gerard thought much more of the relationship though.  He loved Frank, but Frank never felt the same way, but he couldn’t ever find a time or place to tell him. If he told him now, he would go crazy._  
 _“I’ll be right back,” Frank skidded out of bed, and walked over to the bathroom. He pulled his skin, staring at himself in the mirror, thinking of the thoughts that sailed through his mind. He didn’t love Gerard, but Gerard did. He stuffed himself into this mess, and he can’t even tell Gerard his true feelings, considering he is drunk. He splashed water in his face, getting his sleep shirt wet. He stared in the mirror again, then slowly picked up himself and walked back over to Gerard. Gerard was just blankly staring at the ceiling when he arrived. His head turned to him when he started to climb in with him, keeping his distance. Beating his master plan, Gerard scooted next to him, an evil smile spread across his face. He didn’t need to be with… with this monster._  
 _“Gerard… we aren’t meant for each other. I-I doesn’t love you.”_  
 _Gerard sat up, the smile growing bigger at the thought that someone couldn’t love him. You think this is so funny. You will pay for what you’ve done._  
 _“Oh. Really?” Gerard asked, hopping out of bed, paranoid. He started to laugh mischievously, out of bed. He started to walk towards Frank. Frank breathed faster and faster, waiting for Gerard to hurt him, leaning against the wall next to the door. Gerard clutched Frank’s arm when he reached him, a sinister look on his face. His fingernails slowly dug into Frank’s skin, then into his soft flesh. He spitted in his face of disgust._  
 _“Really.” Frank murmured, Gerard now holding him by his neck. He choked and choked. The white light was coming nearer and nearer._  
 _“I loved you Frank. I loved you,” were the last words he heard. Gerard strangles him until he falls against the wall. Frank’s lifeless body lay on the floor. Gerard laughs a coy laugh._  
   
 ~1 year ago ~  
 It was guy’s night out. It was the usual, football games, popcorn, and soda [because Gerard was still getting over his drinking problem]. They fit themselves into Frank’s sweatpants and jerseys. It’s a tradition. Gerard popped the popcorn, while waiting patently. Pop, pop, pop. Frank was flipping through the channels, attempting to find the football channel. And you can heard Ray and Mikey yelling far away in Frank’s house, arguing about something usually fucking pathetic, and has no use or meaning, Frank yelled at them, something about shut up, which is totally accurate. The microwave beeped, and Gerard opened the door and grabbed the popcorn out of the bag, He burned my finger on the flaming hot bag, as he smelled the disgusting aroma of his burning flesh. He clutched some ice and held it tight after dumping the popcorn into a bowl. He dragged the bowl and set it on the table in the living room, sitting down next to Frank.  
 All of them ate popcorn together while watching football. Their quarterback wasn’t playing well, so they mockingly threw stuff at the screen, like popcorn. It was a lot of fun, mostly because they weren’t thinking of album ideas or if they should get girlfriends. That’s why they loved Fridays. They were thinking of having a party, but it was already too late, and they were watching out for Gerard.  
 They spent the rest of the night writing song lyrics and joking around with it. Frank kept on getting funny ideas for album covers, which made them, laugh until their sides hurt.  
 “Guys, I think we should get to bed.” Ray threw out the idea, already climbing into the spare bed in Frank’s room. Ray is pretty much asleep when Mikey volunteered to join him, climbing into Frank’s bed. Frank and Gerard stayed up, and man, it was a hell of a night.  
 They occupied the basement when Ray and Mikey were sleeping. They spilled secrets, some bad ones. Like that they were both gay, in a basement, alone. They didn’t think anything of it. Hours passed until it was 1 am, and Frank and Gerard were both naked in a bed. I couldn’t remember why but Frank was fiddling with Gerard’s hair, so he didn’t bother to ask. They never did anything to regret later, they just sat there. They just sat in the basement bed, naked together. They talked about how the band was doing and that. The night was probably the longest thing they ever suffered through. Gerard didn’t love Frank, but he did have feelings for him. He was cute, nice, and his best friend. It would be wrong for them to date, right?  
 “Gee…”  
 Frank gasped, tiredly. He reached his hand up to Gerard’s face, and picked at his lips then up to my hair. He smiled; revealing his teeth so bright, you could see them through the darkness. His gaze came into Gerard’s, him blushing but you couldn’t tell. He laughed, like he was drunk, even though he wasn’t. His hand moved positions from Gerard’s hair, to his shoulder blade. He didn’t get why he was touching his shoulder blade. Frank started to put pressure on Gerard’s weak shoulder blade. Gerard winced in pain, which allowed him to limit the amount of pressure, which caused him to gasp for air.  
 “Yes,” Gerard gulped, rubbing his shoulder.  
 He smiled, and then it turned into a frown of confusion. He caressed Gerard’s face with his soft fingertips, smirking. He made his way to Gerard’s chin, then released. His stare burned a hole through Gerard’s retinas. Yet his eyes were still gorgeous.  
 “I-I-I…”  
 Then he fell asleep.  
   
~That next morning~  
 Gerard woke up due to the alarm. He rolled over to wake Frank up but he already did, because he wasn’t there. He managed to hop out of bed, and actually put clothes on and skidded upstairs. He walked over to the kitchen, where Ray and Frank were talking about song ideas. They looked at him when he came in, Frank’s face had plastered a big smile onto it, and Ray was just standing there, sipping his coffee. Gerard smiled and waved to both of them, walking over to the coffee machine, pouring myself some. The delicious smell of the coffee beans transferring into an edible drink that made his insides liquefy at the pure thought of it made him want it even more. He poured myself some in a mug, and waltzed over and listened to what Frank and Ray were talking about, but they stopped when he arrived.  
 “Hey Gerard,” Frank nodded. Gerard half-giggled, and nodded back.  
 “Are you guys…?” Ray questioned us. Gerard’s smile stopped, as he shook my head, Frank mimicking him. Ray slouched and took another sip of his coffee.  
 “What about it?” Frank asked, walking over next to him. Ray laughed, and then sat down. Frank was one of those people who if you asked a question, he wanted to know why you asked it. Ray didn’t say anything but that he was going to be out for the rest of the day, and to call when lunch was ready. They agreed to his plan, and Ray was out of there.  
 Gerard was trying to avoid talking to Frank, but he kept trying to talk to him. All he did was just respond, “Yeah,” “Uh-huh,” “If you want.” He was trying to give the hint that he didn’t quite give a fuck, but he didn’t understand.  
 “So about yesterday…” He started, but Gerard put a finger to his mouth, signaling for him to shut up. He gave a look like ‘what the fuck is wrong with you? It wasn’t a big deal, right?” He looked at his feet, and then nodded, upset. He walked to his bedroom, slamming the door. Gerard walked in with him, to see him crying into his pillow. He slowly walked over next to him and sat down.  
 “I-I’m sorry Frankie… I didn’t mean it that way…”  
 He looked up at Gerard, and then looked back, into his pillow. He tapped his foot on the ground to waste time. Gerard kept apologizing until he just plain walked out of the room. Leaving him sitting there, embarrassed as fuck. Gerard walked over to Frank’s room to wake Mikey up, because it was already past noon.  
 “Mikes! Mikey! Wake… Up….”  
 His head perked up, his eyes still closed tiredly. He threw a pillow at his head, and he awoke and got dressed while Gerard texted Ray to get down here. Lunch was as talkative as a bunch of kids meeting their dead father after a long time. They were all just scared to speak, of course.  
   
 _~December 2nd~_  
 _“Gerard…” Frank croaks out from the strangling Gerard is doing to him. He is held against the wall, wet tears already dripping down his face. Gerard let out an evil cackle, and let go of Frank, who’s gasping for air. His pale skin is dripping blood onto the tile floors. Frank looks up to Gerard, his eyes begging for release. Gerard’s eyelids were red and so were the outlines of his lips. The room was plainly white, with spots of black here and there. They were still in the hotel room._  
 _“Yes… my dear?”_  
 _His voice was as innocent and honest as he was. Gerard stares arrogantly at Frank. Gerard didn’t love Frank anymore, after what he did to him not long ago. It wasn’t that Frank didn’t love Gerard, just after his addiction he started to act differently. He was scared for Gerard, because he would get violent, exactly like now. Gerard raises his volume with anger, and putting his hand on the collar of Frank’s shirt and pulling him above the ground._  
 _“When I ask you a question, you answer it,” Gerard booms. Frank shrivels and sighs. “Gerard, you are scaring me. Please stop.” He mockingly gasps, looking depressed._  
 _“Me? I’m scaring you? Of course not!” Gerard releases his grip on Frank, yet again, allowing him to hide under the bed covers. Gerard laughs, and then flips the covers, revealing Frank’s limp body. The serpent orders him out and Frank obeys, standing at the devil’s feet. “Fuck you.” Frank quietly murmurs, getting up from the bed. Gerard stares at Frank._  
 _“Fuck, me? You think that will save your ass, don’t you?” Frank nods, Gerard pacing around the floor. “Why are you doing this to me?” Frank asks, scared for the response. Gerard cackles, and stops pacing._  
 _“Don’t you remember, not long ago, that you admitted to not loving me; and the time before that? The year that we were together with the heartbreaks but I still cared for you? I loved you, Frank! Loved.” Frank lowers his head in defeat, but Gerard lifts it back up, kissing his lips, Frank lying there, awestruck. “And I’m going to make you deserve all of the bullshit you gave me that year. Yes, you, Frank Iero will pay!” Frank pulls away, but the sinner pulls him back in. His beastly tongue pounds on Frank’s lips, demanding permission to enter. Frank, the meek person he is, breaks down and allows him to. Gerard smiles and speaks against Frank’s rough lips, “I don’t love you… but you’ll pay. Now, treat me like you love me!”_  
 _And Gerard yanks Frank onto the bed._  
   
   
 ~That next week~  
 Frank still hadn’t talked to Gerard, because they hadn’t seen each other. If they went to each other’s house, they would avoid each other. Ray and Mikey would try to help, but it never worked. Gerard felt bad, for what he did, but Frank didn’t listen to his many apologies. He would nod his head in ignorance and wander off somewhere in the house. And the phone calls weren’t half as bad as in person. _Ring_ Gerard would call.  
 “Yes?” Frank would answer. Gerard already would know Frank had a fueling relationship with him still. Their conversations limited from full-length sentences, then four-word sentences, and then one-two words, and then complete silence; and then they would hang up.  
 _Today will be different_. Gerard thought, as he marched up to Frank’s door prosperously. He knocked on the door a few times in between seconds. Frank was not expecting him, but Gerard hoped that he would eventually talk to him, or even let him in his house. Gerard messed up his long black hair again, to look like he didn’t do anything to dress up, and he didn’t. Gerard heard footsteps, and eventually the door opened revealing Frank, his hair messy and he was still in his skeleton pajamas.  
 “What are you doing here?” he shrieked, vainly pushing Gerard out. Gerard walked back in, and sat on the couch. He admired the couch colors, ignoring the millions of questions Frank threw at him. He stood up again.

 “I am here because we need to talk, Frank! We can’t just ignore each other forever!” Frank shook his head, then walked closer to Gerard.

 “There’s nothing to talk about,” he insisted, opening the door, signaling Gerard to leave. Gerard stood up and walked over to the door, waving to Frank.  
 “We have a lot to talk about…” As Gerard passed Frank, when leaving the apartment, he whispered, “…Frankie…” into his ear, a hint of sexiness to it, Frank to biting his lip. Frank gripped Gerard’s arm and pulled him back inside. He ordered him into the kitchen, to which he waited for a long time. Frank was just preparing to talk to Gerard. After to not admitting about that night and that he liked him or not, Frank was a little mad. Of course, Frank loved Gerard with all his heart, but Gerard couldn’t admit he was gay. It wasn’t that he lied to Frank. It wasn’t that he was cheating. It was that he was simply embarrassed. But Frank still loved Gerard, but when he couldn’t tell Ray, their best friend, really pissed Frank off.  
 Gerard waited for about an hour, until Frank came back in, portentously. Gerard admonishingly climbed out of a chair in the kitchen and walked over to him. Frank set a hand on Gerard’s shoulder and sat him back down, Frank sitting next to him.

 “What’s wrong?” Gerard asked him after several moments of silence.  Frank laughed a normal laugh, a laugh he would make if they were friends. Of course, Gerard thought he was in the clearing.  
 “What’s wrong? You have the guts to ask me what’s wrong?” Frank laughed again. “Question: Do you love me? Yes or I’m to embarrassed to say yes, is what’s wrong!” Gerard now understood, knowing that Frank was just overreacting and was probably drunk on coffee beans. Gerard laughed a friendly laugh and walked around the small kitchen.  
 “You think I’m embarrassed of you? Why the hell should I be talking about you?” Gerard asked, and Frank froze. Frank realized that maybe Gerard thought he wasn’t gay, or he didn’t like talking about it. He might’ve forgotten or he thought Frank was kidding. Or he thought it was a dream or Frank was pranking him. And the list goes on forever, and for whatever the reason, Gerard doesn’t want to talk about it. Well, he isn’t going to get away that easy. Considering, from what Frank remembered, Gerard threw him on the bed. Gerard liked Frank, but he didn’t liked to admit he was gay. Frank snapped out of thought after he thought of some ideas.  
 “Maybe because we had sex and you refuse to fucking talk about it. At least I’m not embarrassed of my sexual orientation!” Frank snapped. Gerard felt hurt, just looking at his facial expressions. Gerard fast-walked to the entrance to grab his phone and money. He opened the door walked halfway through the door. He turned around.  
 “I have to go.” Gerard’s voice echoed though the hallway of other apartments and he was gone.  
   
 _~December 3 rd~_  
 _Gerard screams of pure enjoyment, as he raises the knife and plunges it into Frank’s arm. It is swelling massively, but Frank is holding back the pain. He can’t let Gerard know that he is feeling pain. He bites his lip hard, resembling the pain that he is feeling. Gerard’s face mocks a confused look._  
 _“My dear, why aren’t you smiling? Isn’t this fun? Isn’t it fun to watch people cry and scream? Isn’t it fun to watch them suffer? Suffer like I did? Oh, you wouldn’t know.” Gerard opens his mouth and scrapes some saliva off the corner of his lip as he turns his back. Frank is tied out with rope about a door, he is wearing the same clothes he has been wearing the whole trip. Gerard turns back around, and impressively walks towards Frank. He robustly lifts his head in his hands and jerks it upward._  
 _Gerard smiles, revealing his daunting black teeth. Frank winces and Gerard grimaces. He leans closer to Frank, so close he can feel his menacing breathe creep along his spine._  
 _“What’s wrong, Frankie?” Frank closes his eyes, and sighs. He licks his bottom lip and pushes Gerard away. Gerard narrows his black menacing eyes at him. Absolutely nobody pushed Gerard off, and especially not this rude fucker._  
 _“Get away from me, you demon!” shrieks Frank, attempting to bust through the pile of rope tied around him. Gerard starts to think of what Frank just yelled._ Me, a demon? How? I thought I was the good guy here. It’s called revenge, poor little Frank. _He wipes his long black hair out of his face and places his hands on his hips._ Me, a demon?  
 _“Oh, I’m sorry, poor innocent little Frank!” he yells, walking around, seethed. Gerard was very mad. And you never get a drunken man mad, that’s for sure._

 _“You’ve gone crazy, Gerard! Gerard, please come back,” Frank pleads, fighting his restricted arms at the rope, getting scratches. “This_ is _Gerard. Gerard is me,” Gerard murmurs._  
 _And at that moment, Frank was sure the beers have taken over Gerard; the man once loved; the man that broke his heart; the man that Frank had broken his heart once before. He was gone. Now was… was this monster! But Frank, being the prominently stubborn person he was, was not going to let this happen. Gerard meant too much to him._  
 _“Gerard…” Gerard turns his head, and smiles, because Frank is smiling too._  
   
 ~That next day~  
 Gerard and Frank never spoke. Ray and Mikey didn’t help. The problem kept on growing and growing and growing. None of them wanted to talk to each other. None of them wanted to see each other. Of course none of the others cared. They believed it would all blow over, like dandelions with lots of wind. But that was not the case. When they would see each other, they would make petrified stares at each other from across the room. As usual, Ray and Mikey rolled their eyes, not aware that this situation was getting worse and worse every time they laid an eye on each other. They unforgivingly scorned each other.  
 “Guys, are you guys still fighting?” Mikey dimly asked on another guy’s night out.  
 Ray giggled, and when Frank and Gerard frowned at him, he gulped down his mug of hot cocoa in one drink. Gerard looked down, and licked the inner corners of his mouth. Frank stared at the ceiling then down on Mikey. He mouthed, ‘Not now, Mikes,’ to Mikey. Mikey nodded somberly.

 “I’ll just take that as a yes,” Mikey took a sip of his hot cocoa too.  “But you can’t just ignore each other forever!” he yelped springing up into the standing position.

 “Yes, we can,” they concluded in harmony.  
 Ray and Mikey both rolled their eyes again and sipped their hot cocoa.  
 “To be honest, I don’t want to fight,” declared Frank, leaping up, staring at Gerard. Gerard beamed. “But it’s not my fault Gerard is being such an asshole and won’t fucking listen to me!” Gerard’s ghostly white cheeks stained red. He endured himself up.

 “Me? I listened the last time we talked and it was fucking torture!” Gerard bellowed, pacing into Frank’s room. Frank sniggered derisively and eagerly followed Gerard.  
 “At least I know who I am and don’t have to pretend who I am around my friends and family!” Frank blasted back, slamming his bedroom door. Gerard withered his head back in defeat.

 “I know I am,” Gerard whispered, scraping his neck. Frank lessened his eyes upon Gerard’s wimp body.

 “You don’t know one thing about yourself,” Frank walked towards Gerard steadily. “And you’re still trying to figure it out!”  
 “I am straight, Frank. That one,” Gerard gulped down the lump in his throat, “night… It means nothing! I don’t fucking love you! I like women.”  
  “Once again, Gerard Way is afraid to identify his true sexual orientation. How many times are you shooting for? Ten? Twenty? Fifty? However many you decide to do, I am done with your shit either way,” he sauntered out the door of the bedroom and the apartment door. Frank twisted to see Ray and Mikey, gawking at him.  
 “Sorry guys, family emergency,” Frank lied. _If Gerard can do it, so can I,_ he thought. Mikey stood back up again and strode over to Frank.

 “We heard what you guys were yelling about,” Mikey confessed sorrow filling his eyes. Frank’s face mimicked a tangled expression. He didn’t know. He couldn’t know. He wouldn’t know.

 “What did you hear perhaps?” Frank crossed his arms over his torso revealing an _I’m ready to be impressed_ look. He narrowed his eyes on Mikey.  
 “I just want you to know, we don’t care what sexual orientation either of you are,” Ray was gone and Mikey was moving closer. What was going on? When Mikey was a quarter’s length apart, Mikey sealed his eyes shut and leaned in. Mikey’s lips met Frank’s. They were soft but Frank knew this was wrong. He alienated, unlocked the door and bolted out. Tears flooded Frank’s eyes.  
 “Did it work?” Frank heard Gerard’s voice.  
 “Nope, what else?” Frank recognized Mikey’s voice.  
  _This was a setup_. And Frank didn’t turn his head once.  
   
 ~That next day~  
 Frank and Gerard spoke a lot. Gerard called to apologize, but Frank didn’t pay attention. If Gerard apologized for centuries, Frank would still not forgive him. I mean, making his own brother kiss him? Wow, that’s shallow even for Gerard. Aw, the name gave Frank goose bumps. Frank still liked Gerard, but if he couldn’t admit his true sexual orientation how could he love him? He couldn’t!  
  _Ring_ echoed the phone. It was Gerard again. Frank gawked at the caller id for a long time until he selected the phone and alleged it up to his ear.  
 Gerard: “Frank!” Frank rolled his eyes, although Gerard couldn’t see.  
 Frank: “Yes.” Frank refused to talk to Gerard for a long time, considering Gerard has called a million times and Frank only answered once, counting then.  
 Gerard: “Dude, I’m really sorry! I don’t know what Mikey was thinking… That asshole…” Frank interrupted him.  
 Frank: “It’s not like you fucking hired him to do it for you! I heard you guys talking after I left! You _and_ Mikey are _both_ assholes!” There was a slow obstinate silence in-between.  
 Gerard: “Should I explain or do you hate me too much to let me talk?” Gerard’s tone sounded aggravated, just hearing through the phone speaker.  
 Frank: “Explain, and then I’ll decide if I hate you.” Gerard snorted an obscure laugh.  
 Gerard: “Okay, I hired Mikey, all honesty. Hatred aside… I’m really sorry. Really.”  Frank moaned.  
 Frank: “Fine, I forgive you,” you could hear Gerard saying ‘Yes!’ in the background. “But I still am holding that grudge about what we were originally talking about. You can’t just be pleasing your way out of everything. Especially me.”  
 Gerard: “Thanks so much, Frankie!”  
 Then they hung up after having the big debate about who was going to first. Frank knew Gerard liked him. _Lying asshole_ , smiled Frank and sunk into his couch in his media room.  
   
 _~December 3 rd~_  
 _Gerard admires the picture he has just painted, his eyes gleaming. Frank stares at him clashes along his body._

Look what this fiend has done to me.

_Gerard places his paintbrush on his chin, attempting to find something to change on his masterpiece._

_“Nothing! It’s absolutely precious!” Gerard screeches of excitement._  
 _“That’s your opinion,” Frank mutters, biting at his nails, although they are already bleeding illogically. Gerard twists his body to watch Frank, confusion striking his eye._  
 _“It’s. Gorgeous,” Gerard demands, turning back to the vibrant canvas. Franks coughs then rolls his eyes at Gerard’s senseless and overconfident comment. The beers have not just turned Gerard into a thirsty man but also an idiotic one at that too._

_“Is there something you want to say, maggot?” Gerard enquires, spurting into Frank’s colorless face. Frank shakes his head, lowering it in embarrassment. Gerard nods and turns back to his painting. Frank admires the red and the black splashes along the once-white canvas._  
 _“Don’t you love it?” Gerard demands, smearing more red in the picture. Frank bites his lip in misperception, in which to tell Gerard the truth, a thing Frank has not known for such a long time, or to allow him to die of excitement then and there. Gerard’s happiness and satisfaction, to anything other than sex, makes Frank leer because he hasn’t seen it in a while. Frank licks his bottom lip, feeling the parts of skin that have faded over from the constant plucking at them from the last year of anxiety._  
 _“Whatever makes you happy,” Frank answers, cynically, eyeing Gerard from across the white room. Gerard cackles, and treads over to Frank. Frank breathes worryingly and his fingers tremor at the thought of being raped by Gerard again. Compared to Gerard’s brawny and strong body after the years he went the gym to Frank’s frail and scrawny body he was left no choice but just watch in disgrace. It was a shame he wasn’t the strong one._  
 _“I don’t like your sarcasm, bitch.”_  
 _\--I WANT EVERYONE TO KNOW TODAY IS 11/12/13 OH YEAH--_  
 _Gerard snarls, the echo of his taunting ring sounding through the room. Gerard smirks and fastens a hand on Frank’s shoulder._

_“Tell me your real feelings,” Gerard bends and murmurs into Frank’s ear, lecherously, “Frankieee…”_  
 _Frank purrs at the exultant sensation he is feeling when Gerard whispers in his ear. Gerard nibbles on his ear, but Frank quivers him off, Gerard wickedly glowering at him._

_“You aren’t the fucking boss of me!” Gerard howls, nibbling on Frank’s ear again, stricter. Frank shakes him off yet again. Gerard throws his hands to his hips._

_“Who do you fucking? Think. You. Are? I am the fucking king here and you are the peasant. So, bow down…_ peasant _!” Gerard exclaims, sounding every letter out wisely._  
 _Frank tugs one hand out of the rope and lifts it up high in the air, thrashing Gerard’s rubber skin so hard it starts to leak blood. Gerard dabs the blood, stares at it for a while to digest it all, then glowers back at Frank. His look is offensive and notable, his eyes like bullets._  
 _“Fucker,” Gerard yells and punches Frank so tough, his jaw snaps and he shrivels to the ground._

 _“You aren’t the fucking boss. Of. Me!”_  
 _Frank lifts his broken skull up the study the picture. The painting is he at that moment. Bloody. He pants then passes out._  
   
 _~December 4 th~_  
 _Frank wakes up from his shuteye to perceive Gerard over him, watching him. Frank shoots his head back in Gerard’s direction, a little frightened. “Wakey wakey, my little Frankie!” Gerard screeches of contentment, beaming hard enough to worry Frank and injure his own cheeks. “Yes, wakey wakey…” Gerard mutters under his breath, and Frank raising an eyebrow._  
 _“Are you a physic?” Frank inquires, grinding his daze toward Gerard’s broad, tall body. Gerard giggles and leans on another white canvas. “No, but I can predict the future,” Gerard anecdotes while rinsing another paintbrush to dye another “beautiful” “masterpiece”. Frank rolls his eyes._  
 _“Didn’t you love my other picture?” Gerard asks, splatting black and red paint on the canvas. ‘No,’ Frank wants to say._  
 _“Why should I? I was in literal pain.” Gerard stops painting and squints at Frank. “You should like it because I painted it for you,” Gerard walks around Frank. “And because you were in the same pain I was in a year ago!”_  
 _Frank understands._  
 _Gerard used to become hurt because of Frank, and Gerard was now making sure he felt the same pain he felt. Gerard wasn’t kidding. Frank was going to die from Gerard from the way he has been treating him. Or, will he escape? Or will he be freed? Will Gerard snap out of the spell?_  
 _Oh, the possibilities, Frank thinks to himself._  
   
 ~The next month~  
 Smooth sailing has been going on with Gerard and Frank. They refused to fight, and everything was going exactly right. They would have multiple guys’ nights out, and they wouldn’t say one vicious word to each other. Of course, Mikey and Frank didn’t talk after the kiss, and he still thought Mikey was an asshole. And, secretly, Frank still was mad at Gerard. He did warn him that he would still hold that grudge over his head, and Frank hadn’t forgotten.  
   
 _~December_ _4 th~_  
 _“Gerard!” Frank shrieks exasperatingly lurid, waking Gerard from his, from what he calls it, beauty sleep. Gerard rubs his weary eyelids with his desiccated hands, a maddened look stretched across his face. Gerard stretches his still-drowsy limbs and steps out of his bed, to walks over to Frank._

_“…Yes, my loooooove,” Gerard haughtily replies, leaning on the wall subsequent to Frank, who is entertained sanctimoniously._  
 _“I’m huuuuungry, Gerard!” he howls into Gerard’s ear, stomping his stained-blood red black Converse. Gerard acerbically turns his head, his jet-black hair wilting in front of his face, and narrows his black eyes on Frank, furiously. He rolls his eyes on Frank although Frank doesn’t observe._

_“Fucking starve for all I care!” He places an anemic hand on his hip, and smacks Frank in the face, again, which makes Frank whimper of pain. His bruised skin on his face swell even bigger and Frank clutches it. ‘Fuck you,” Frank thinks to himself. ‘If I was the more powerful one, this wouldn’t happen.’ Frank stiffens up. ‘And it’s my duty to make it stop. To stop Gerard.’_  
 _If only it were that easy._  
   
 ~Another Thursday night~  
 “Gerard! _Come oooooon_!” They all bellowed at Gerard, who was obediently making dinner. Microwave pizza never tasted so good. Gerard amended the pizza into four enormous slices, placed it on a plate and offered it to them, still a bit aggravated. He clasped a plate for himself and snuggled in the loveseat, alone. Gerard’s hand trembled; giving Gerard that empty feeling in his stomach he’s been feeling for a month now. He missed Frank. No. It couldn’t be. Could it? Since when was Gerard Way gay? Never, that’s when. Gerard liked women and only women. Right? Was Frank right? Maybe he was. To be honest, Gerard didn’t know himself. Frank was right the whole time. Gerard buried his viscous head into his weak hands, breathing heavily. Gerard isn’t gay. Gerard wouldn’t admit he was gay. Maybe he was. Maybe he wasn’t. Gerard didn’t know, but everyone else did. His life had turned from a dream, to his own hell in less than a month.  
 “Is everything ok?” They called at Gerard, still deep in thought. Gerard steadily lifted his head up and watched their faces. Look at them. Gerard was in pain and nobody cared. Nobody. Gerard ran his hand through his blackish-blonde hair signaling that he didn’t want to talk about it. Or, really, talk at all. Mikey nodded his head in depression. Of course, Mikey wasn’t depressed, but he was sick to the stomach when he approached the thought of that his brother might be. Gerard never talked. Most of the time he wouldn’t sit with them or hang out with them. Secretly, they were scared for Gerard.  
 They rest of them bobbed their heads helplessly and rotated their heads to the screen except for Frank. Frank just lied there and tapered his eyes on Gerard, who didn’t look up. _Look away, look away_.  
 “Gerard.” He still refused to look up, although warm tears collected in his eyes. “Can we talk for a minute?” Frank questioned, enquiringly. He still didn’t say anything, because he couldn’t think of anything clever to say. All he could do was follow Frank. Maybe if Gerard doesn’t talk for a while, Frank will shut up. Frank abided up, same as Gerard. They marched to Gerard’s room, unobtrusively. Frank slammed the door, while Gerard rested on his bed.  
 “What’s going on?” Gerard constricted then kicked his feet. Frank lay next to him and rubbed his shoulder full of trepidation and concern, but Gerard skimmed him off. Frank knew something was wrong with Gerard. He knew that we have probably depressed, but Frank couldn’t see him like this.  
 “Gerard! Please! _Answer me_!” Gerard stood still while Frank was crying. Frank had never cared so much about Gerard. Ever. Frank had lost his best friend. He had lost his soul mate. He was gone.  
 “Please! _Say something_!” Frank pleaded, his face now drenched with tears. “ _Please_! Anything! A word, a phrase, a movement, an expression, a gesture, _anything_!” Frank had finally accepted Gerard was mentally ill and he was depressed. However that happened, it happened. No one wanted it to happen, but Gerard wouldn’t do anything. Nothing.  
 When Frank sauntered out of the room, distraught, he sat back down next to Ray and Mikey who were scared as fuck.

 “Is he ok?” asked Mikey, worry creeping in his voice. Frank cleared out the lump in his throat and wiped the tears off his eyelids and cheeks.

 “No! He’s not okay!” Frank cried, gulping for air. Mikey started to tear up a bit too, same for Ray. They all cared about Gerard and the fact he wasn’t all right was just sickening, especially to Mikey.  
   
 ~Later that night~  
 Gerard sat in his room alone. He was always alone, but how come? He just basically sat there and thought of what had happened that night, although he didn’t really remember any of it. He hadn’t really concentrated on anything unless if it was important. All he could remember was of Frank leaving his bedroom. He didn’t care either. He was screwing up everything he touched. How could things get screwed up so fast?  
 It was perfectly clear- nobody cared about Gerard. It wasn’t because Gerard hated them; he screwed that up all by himself. Gerard was helpless in his most wanted time of need. Nobody liked Gerard. A shadowy black tear flooded his eye.  
 Gerard stood up solemnly and stiffly ambled to the kitchen, seeing Mikey, apprehensive as ever.

 “Gerard! What’s wrong? Are you hearing me?” bawling into Gerard’s blank face. “Say something! I love you Gerard! Please,” Mikey cried, the same as Frank. But Gerard couldn’t hear a word he was saying. All he saw was Mikey mouthing out words. Mikey had given up and left, miserable. Gerard admired the whole kitchen honestly.  
  _The big kitchen knife was so tempting._  
 He disappeared into his bedroom and quietly shut the door- with a gigantic steak knife in his hand. He was going to pull it off.  
 Gerard sat on the floor, glancing back at his door.

 “Goodbye, door.” Then he gaped at his walls, which have been his only real friend.  

 “Goodbye walls.”  
  **“Why are you doing this?”** Asked the curious four walls.  
 “I’m sorry. It’s time.”  
 **“But I love you, Gerard.”** But Gerard shook his head.  
 “The only person I want to be loved by is Frank. And he doesn’t love me any longer.”  
 **“Fine. Go! Go to where you want to go! Nobody fucking likes you anyways,”** is what Gerard imagined they said. They imagined they grew hatred of him. He imagined even his last friends lost fond of him. He imagined he was alone. Accordingly to Gerard, everyone could hear the walls, but in reality, only Gerard could. They spoke to him. If he imagined he was big and bold, they would compliment him. But if he thought he deserved to die, they would bellow hatred comments. He wanted more reasons to kill himself perhaps.  
 Gerard cried more, the black tears staining his once animated and ecstatic face. He caressed the severe blade against his wrist.   

 “ _Everyone hates you. You deserve to die faggot. You have no meaning to life. No reason to live. I’m surprised you didn’t kill yourself earlier_!” Gerard growled at himself, only making him feel worse. Gerard’s depression was making it look like everyone hated him.  
 He took a deep, long breath and brushed the blade delicately then coarsely. Blood dripped on his wrist then the floor as Gerard winced in pain.

 “ _Everyone hates you. You deserve to die faggot. You have no meaning to life. No reason to live. I’m surprised you didn’t kill yourself earlier_!” He kept repeating it over and over again. Gerard closed his eyes. He refused to stare at his arms. His heart beaded outside of his ribcage.  
 **“Gerard!”** It was Frank’s voice. Gerard opened his eyes and looked around for Frank interestedly but he wasn’t there.  
 “Frankie?” Gerard was still scraping the blade against his pale skin, but the pain felt good: great in fact. It felt as if all of Gerard’s agony and anxiety for the past month was just pouring out onto the floor. Frank didn’t respond. Gerard stared at his arm and he smirked with contentment. He had never felt so happy in his life. His arm was a masterpiece. He admired his creative cuts on his arms, and that made Gerard want to cut more. He scratched upper on his arms. It felt refreshing. He scrabbled on his legs. It was invigorating.  
  **“Gerard, you shouldn’t be doing this.”** This time it was Mikey’s voice. The walls were taunting him with the sounds of people who Gerard didn’t care about to trigger the death plan further in tact.  
 “Since when do you care?” he croaked, scraping more on his thighs.  
 **“I love you Gerard!”** The voice cried.  
 “No you don’t! You never cared for me once, _asshole!_ ” The voice never called again.

  _“Everyone hates you. You deserve to die faggot. You have no meaning to life. No reason to live. I’m surprised you didn’t kill yourself earlier!”_ Gerard hummed louder. His voice was full of tension and unsure-of happiness. Gerard just couldn’t believe what he had done to himself when he ran out of places to cut.

 “It’s… It’s beautiful!” He started to tear up again. He was standing in front of the mirror. Gerard was very pleased with his work.  
 _“Everyone hates you. You deserve to die faggot. You have no meaning to life. No reason to live. I’m surprised you didn’t kill yourself earlier!”_ He started to yell his song and finally happy tears ran down his cheeks.  
 His naked body was covered nearly head-to-toe in blood and cuts. He smirked again.

  “Maybe you do have some reason to live, faggot.”  
 Then, Gerard fell asleep on the floor, naked with the bloodstained knife clutched in his hands.  
   
 _~December 11th~_  
 _Gerard is now kicking Frank in the legs and stomach, that’s his ‘weekly exercise’ but it somehow changes from weekly to daily. Frank isn’t flinching, balking, withering or showing any sign of pain. He has adjusted to everything around there._  
 _“Gerard- can I speak to you without you stomping on my rib cage please?” Gerard cackles and leans on Frank._  
 _“Shoot.” He sounds like a non-drunk guy; which makes Frank uncomfortable._

 _“Are you –in any way, shape or form- drunk?” Gerard flinches at the word ‘drunk.’ He nods his head, honestly and continues to kick Frank. ‘Just wait until he snaps out of the trance. It’s been a fucking week, it’ll wear off soon.’_  
 _Secretly, Gerard doesn’t know, but when or if he snaps out of it, he can act like he still is and Frank will still be Gerard’s slave. Nothing will stop Gerard from hurting Frank. As much as Frank tries, he won’t._  
   
 ~That next morning~  
  
 Frank hung out that day and took care of Gerard. They still had no idea what had happened. Gerard had worn his long leather jacket to hide his scars on his arms, and of course, wore jeans and shoes to cover the other ones. When Frank came, Gerard just stayed in his room and drew. It seemed to be his only escape, except for cutting. But there’s literally no more space to cut, so he just had to wait for it to heal.  
  **“Why didn’t you just kill yourself yesterday?”** It was Frank’s voice again. He sucked it in and grabbed a mahogany oil pastel, ignoring it.  
 **“Remember that chant you were singing? _You deserved to die_! Well, you were right.”** Once again, Gerard was thinking of the untainted thought of killing himself, and the walls were helping. They mocked a voice of someone who Gerard believed didn’t love him and it convinced him that those were the real voices of those people.  
 “Don’t you think I know that?” he angrily shot back; scribbling some skin-type color in his sketch book on the picture he’s drawing.  
  **“Well, you should’ve. Nobody here cares about you.”** Gerard nodded and continued to outline black in his canvas.  
 “I was fucking trying, ok? Get off my ass,” Gerard convened up and walked over to say hi to Frank. Not like he wanted to, but he would hate for things to get suspicious. He’s already a suspect, and little does he know, they think he’s going mentally insane. Maybe he was. Frank and Mikey were sitting down on the couch with earnest looks on their faces when they saw Gerard. Gerard felt witlessly uncomfortable and sat down, back straightened.  
 “Gerard, we are scared for you,” Mikey called at Gerard. Gerard froze. He could actually hear Mikey. He was recovering.  
 **Gerard, we hate you**.  
 The walls were communicating through his head _. Go the fuck away_! He thought, attempting to wish them away.  
 “We think you are depressed,” Frank concluded. Was he depressed? He never thought of it as depressed. He thought of it more like alone or I have no fucking friends so don’t talk to me.  
 **We think you should kill yourself.**  
 “I am,” Gerard, asked, all though it didn’t come out as a question. Frank raised his head higher and locked his elegant hazel eyes on Gerard’s.

 “You are?” Frank questioned again.  
  **You are a faggot.**  
  _Get away from me!_  
 “I-It was supposed to b-be a q-question . . . ” He admitted and strolled over to his bedroom again and slammed the door. He heard Mikey and Frank murmur about him.  
 ‘He’s getting worse!’  
 **He needs to die.**  
 ‘We should schedule an appointment!’  
  **We should wish he kills himself tonight**.  
 ‘What if he doesn’t know he is? Oh no…’  
  **What if he stays alive? Oh no…**  
 “Go the fuck out of my head!” Gerard shrieked categorically loud, which instantaneously summoned a concerned Frank and Mikey.  
 “Are you okay?” “What happened?” “Who is in your head?” “What are they saying?”  
 Gerard’s small brain whirled with so many questions that he passed out. Frank stared at Gerard, of course wishing that he hadn’t died, which was _very_ over-exaggerated. Mikey, he just stood in confusion and perplexity of all. He didn’t know what to believe with Gerard anymore. He was _completely_ unpredictable.  
 “T-the v-voice…” Gerard whispered before he passed out.  
 Frank and Mikey stared at each other for a long time, terror streaking their eyes. They seized Gerard’s limbs and conveyed him to the living room. They threw him forcefully onto the couch attempting to wake him up. Gerard lifted his dense head and moaned blearily. He sat up and continued to mind-talk with the walls, and you could see it with his facial expressions.  
  **You know, they’re going to find out what happened yesterday,** they warned him.  
 _They are? Why? How?_  
 **Because I’m going to tell them! So then they can hate on you, and it’s more painful when it’s actually them. Maybe you’ll actually kill yourself this time,** they practically begged him. Or how Gerard seemed to put it. He liked to think of them as his slaves because he created them. But after he kept on using and using them, they became overpowered and now, Gerard was their slave. He was too easy and pathetic.  
 _How? You guys are just walls. My walls. I control you. You are my puppets._  
 **Ha-ha, oh Gerard. You have no idea how powerful we are. We could kill you if we tried.** Gerard laughed a simulated snicker.  
 He snapped out of his massive train of thought and looked at Frank and Mikey. They had been yelling his name for a few minutes and of course that made him more vexed. He rolled up the sleeves of his leather jacket because the room was getting hotter. Then he realized. The walls made him roll his sleeves up. They’re going to see. And they did. Gerard realized they were now using him to create hell for himself. They had _used_ him.  
   
 _~December 12th~_  
 _“Frank?” Gerard roars at Frank to get his attention. Frank tightens his eyes on Gerard, signaling him he’s listening. Frank endeavors to unchain the connection Frank and Gerard are sharing with their eyes, but his eyes are too hypnotic. They are black, an exquisite murky black. Gerard studies Frank. From his erogenous hair, with it flopping in front of his face, down to his naked feet, although it was hard to stare at with him tapping it. He knows Frank is hiding something; it was obvious, wasn’t it? The constant ignoring Gerard, never looking him direct in the eyes, and mumbling offensive and discourteous things about him really exposed that idea. It wasn’t exactly rocket science, of course._  
 _“Yes?” Frank interrogative his word, regretting it the second he responded it. Gerard narrows his eyes at Frank, gesticulating that he wanted more. “Gerard always wants more.” Frank indecently murmurs to himself, rolling his eyes. The room suddenly became quiet then to silent._  
 _“…Sir,” Frank mumbles at Gerard._  
 _“You have treated me with such… disrespect these past week…” Gerard furiously a bark, pinching Frank’s pale as white, rubbery skin. It felt almost unreal._  
 _“Have you come to think maybe it’s because I’m a little annoyed that I’m being held hostage here with you either being raped, forced to love you or to stand around being slapped or…” Frank glowers at his hand, where Gerard was pinching, “pinched. All I fucking did was tell you my true feelings and you went all sixteen-year old girl melodramatic on me!” Frank roars, and then expectorates into Gerard’s face, feeling in Gerard’s power although he is nowhere close._  
 _“Are you expecting me to apologize for loving you? And anyways, I’m too tired to fight,” moans Gerard, falling asleep next to Frank. Now, he was strapped to a bed._  
 _When Gerard did fall asleep (in Frank’s arms, might I add) he whispers things. “Frankie! Come back!” “What did I do?” “I love you!” “Stop running from me. I love you,” and the list goes on. Frank didn’t like to think that he was Gerard’s puppet, but now he was one more than ever._  
 _“I loved you Frank… I loved you. Loved,” continues to murmur Gerard. Frank kept repeating why he loved Gerard before. He was striking. He was compassionate. He was… anything he was now. Maybe he still does. He probably would, if Gerard didn’t insult his ass every second. It was obvious. They both like each other, but since the pain they both are still feeling (from each other of course) who’s the better person to take it out on, then the person who caused that pain?_  
 _“I hate you Frank! You asshole!”_  
 _But for Gerard to confess was about as easy as getting over each other. And that still hadn’t happened. Would it even happen at all?_  
 _“Ha-ha, I love you too,” jokes Frank, slightly snuggling his head in between Gerard’s. He smiles and falls asleep too._  
   
 ~Early in the morning, two days later~  
 Gerard woke up in a white, colorless room, sort of one in a mental asylum to how it looked. His eyes widened at the gown he was wearing. It was a gown they wore in the hospital.  
  _Am I in a hospital?_  
 **Yes, you are,** the walls abruptly responded.  
  _Oh look, it’s you again._  
  **You can thank me later, don’t worry.**  
 _In any way, am I in here because of Mikey and Frank?_  
 **Correct. You can thank me later** , mordantly the voice countered.  
  _This is your fucking fault!_  
 **Like, I said, you can thank me later.**  
 _They probably think I’m mental!_  
 **You are. I was just helping you.**  
  _Then don’t ever help me again._  
 The door opened and revealed Frank and Mikey. Their petrified stares shook the room, creating an uncomfortable silence. “Are you feeling better?” questioned Frank, worry creeping in his voice to make it crack. Mikey didn’t speak, but he did wipe his eyes, tears flooding them. They sat down treacherously.  
 Gerard nodded, even though that was a lie. When he accidentally exposed his cuts, it made him feel worse if that was possible. The whole point of that was to keep it a secret and expose the pain and anxiety you were feeling into your skin with your knife, not the ones who caused you to cut. Although, Gerard created the loathing they supposedly directed toward him, he imagined. And the walls helped that happen. The mocking the walls did of Frank’s and Mikey’s voices, he used them, and the walls muted what the real Mikey and Frank said in reality, and replaced it with their versions what they said.  
 They acted like they hadn’t seen Gerard in years.  
 “Good. That’s good…” Frank trailed off, repudiating to stare at Gerard. They still hated Gerard. Things weren’t fucking getting any better. Maybe, he’d find a knife... Or even better… a rope!  
 He still dreamed of suicide, and the walls couldn’t control his thoughts. They just adjusted them to make them sound worse. Gerard’s thoughts meant a lot to what he would actually do, and the walls adjusting his intermittent compliments cursorily transformed to more thoughts of suicide and suicide attempts.  
 He beamed, staring back at Mikey. His face transformed to a perplexed and fretful look, feeling concern for his brother.  
 “Brother? What’s wrong? Is everything all right?”  He sounded like a mental hospital patent, enthusiastic. Mikey wiped his tears and focused on Gerard, who was sneering again. He wasn’t fully onboard with the whole Happy Gerard skit.

 “N-nothing Gerard!” He stuttered and fake-grinned. Gerard changed, yet again, to a fervent expression.  
 “Oh.”  
 “You know we love you right, Gerard?”  
 **You know we wished you would die right, Gerard?** There crept the walls.  
 “Get the fuck _out!_ ” Gerard unintentionally barked, with Mikey and Frank standing up. An indiscriminate siren flashed red and nurses with white skirts and Red Cross hats barged in. Mikey and Frank absconded, still alarmed and agitated. They exchanged a look of I-told-you-so and sauntered out. They were concerned, of course. I mean, who wouldn’t be, right? But, they knew that was going to happen, but they didn’t admit it. It just was strange to admit to predict the future; a prodigious feeling, quite not.  
 “He’s gone Mikey. He might not be dead, but I think we are already dead to him. Whatever the _fuck_ is happening in his head, it is creating the sensitive idea that we hate him. Even if he doesn’t, he still does. I’m just scared for Gerard’s sake. He could be dead in a few days without the right amount of security he needs, Mikes. I know you don’t want to hear it, but it’s true. I love him, but he despises us! And we can’t do one thing about it. Just allow things to recover themselves,” alleged Frank while they were escorted out by more nurses.  
 While the time crept by, Frank was gaining more knowledge of the situation but Mikey still refused to listen to it, kind of like his mentally hostile brother. He still loved Gerard considering he still was his brother. But, the despondent part was that they had no idea what was happening. They had no idea Gerard actually cared for them but the once-friendly walls volunteered and screwed up everything in his life. His friends. His family, although his parents already didn’t care for him. And with the amount of disgust and abhorrence Gerard was signaling toward Frank and Mikey, they didn’t really care any longer. They, in some words, hated him. Gerard’s worst nightmares, and fantasies, had become real life.  
   
 _~Later that morning~_  
 _Gerard wakes up, realizing his head caressed along Frank’s, him still in deep slumber. How adorable, he thinks. He deliberately advances up and continues the drawing he started to paint not long ago, maybe a year or less.  He gazes for a mahogany oil pastel and continues to scrawl red stretched marks on the sketchbook. He licks his lips in admiration and shock. A smirk then appears in its place._

_“This one is beautiful too…”_  
 _“It really is,” Frank’s invigorating voice responds over his shoulder, causing Gerard to shiver of pleasure. His voice was… hard to describe. It was stimulating, but also cryptic. It was magnificent, also dismal. Not one word could describe it, only millions. Ecstatic. Dilettante. Dubious. Amatory. Divine. Desolate. Quiet. Sarcastic sometimes. It just gives him a chill down his spine. Gerard grins then glowers back at Frank._  
 _“Thanks. That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve every said to me in a long time,” he gulps then cracks back to his sketchbook, filling in the inconsequential details. He tonics it up, and reveals its attractiveness._

_“Isn’t it miraculous?” Gerard questions Frank._  
 _Frank gasps, covering his mouth. “Sure,” Frank declares, tension peeking along the sentence. Gerard nods._  
 _The picture is of his cuts. He drew that the day after he cut himself. It’s extraordinarily detailed._  
 _“Did I cause that Gee?”_  
 _“Yes, you did- dirt bag.”_  
 _Then Gerard smashed his lips against Frank’s, rising from his seat. Frank loved the electric current moving through his entire body as they kissed. Gerard loved having Frank to himself, even though he was still unaware of his feelings for Frank. Honestly, he was as confused as Frank was with his whole situation._  
   
 ~That weekend~  
 Gerard was allowed to have visitors now, although the nurses still shivered of concern when Mikey and Frank emanated. They just stared, awestruck, at their dauntless selves even stepping in their doorway. Even looking at them was impertinent.  
 “Hey Gerard,” enthusiastically called the nurse, Alison. She had been Gerard’s systematic nurse for the week he’d already stayed there. She had luscious blonde hair that fell down her back, which she always put in a braid.  
 “Hey, Ali,” he uncomprehendingly added, blankly staring past Alison’s head. He waved, a still unelaborated look stretched across his face. She beamed, and then sat down next to Gerard and stroked his hair. He loved Frank. How could she not recognize that? Gerard shrugged her off, and she just examined Gerard. She liked Gerard, as ‘more than a friend’ as many people could put it. She apologized, fixed his prescription on his nightstand and waved goodbye.  
 “Sorry. Let me gather my thoughts,” he called at Alison, unintentionally seductively. Alison let out a moan of despondency because she couldn’t kiss him, or snuggle with him. She necessarily loved Gerard. Gerard? He still had that empty hole in his heart for Frank and it could only be filled with Frank’s love. Not this slut of a girl.  
 “On second thought; goodbye Alison.”  
 She indignantly strode out, shaking her exposed hips.  
 “Bye slut!” he bellowed, causing her and her other “nurse friends” to gasp and gossip. Idiot.  
 Other doctors and nurses surrounded Gerard, giving him his daily prescription to become somnolent. His look went empty then to dead in a matter of minutes. In his stagnation, he muttered in an unobtrusive, muffled voice. “I miss you baby. Please never leave me again. I love you.”  
 He was talking about Frank.  
…  
 Frank laid on the loveseat, watching some comedy show but he wouldn’t laugh. At that point of his life, nothing seemed funny. His whole life was crumbling before his eyes. His life was empty and had no meaning. Just like Gerard, he really had nobody. Yes, he did have Mikey. And maybe Mikey was all he needed. But with his parents fighting every minute, no communication with Ray, and his best friend, Gerard, mentally insane, it was getting harder and harder to imagine the good things in his life.  
 Mikey sat only five feet from him, and he didn’t snicker either. Mikey was his only sane friend that kept in contact with him. Yes, they talked about friendly stuff; comic books, and that stuff, but they also talked about the problems in each other’s lives.  
 Frank clutched the remote, sliding the volume down to speak to Mikey.

 “Have you heard about how Gerard’s been doing?” Frank enquired, tapping his foot boisterously against the floor. He did that when he was nervous and apprehensive. He licked his lips.  
 “Uh, yeah I have. He’s been doing better but…” Mikey stuttered, then established up into the kitchen to get a mug of coffee. He and Gerard loved to do that together when he was there. They would each put in two different flavors from Coffee-Mate: peppermint mocha for Gerard, and French vanilla for Mikey. They would pour the flavors at the same time, cling the mugs together and take a sip cooperatively. The thought of it made it feel like someone ripped out Mikey’s heart and threw it onto the ground. He hated the ingenuous thought of his brother. He _loathed_ it.  
 “But what, Mike?” Frank thundered, following Mikey into the kitchen, stomping every step with exasperation and impatience. Mikey managed to gather up his full coffee mug and sip it, his eyes still glued on Frank.  
 “They called me to tell me he’s been doing great. Taking his pills. He’s screamed a few times but otherwise fine. He’s sleeping at the accurate time. He’s cooperative. He bonds a lot. He’s actually having fun, or how the words they described it as. Although he isn’t with us, he is still having a great time there. And we should be the big people in the situation and be happy for him, as much as we are heartbroken. Trust me, I am much as you are. The nurses are being his friends. Isn’t that grand, Frank?” Mikey asked, breathing for air. Frank nodded, captivatedly wiping a slight tear away. “He’s being very friendly. And he’s not going anorexic, like a lot of the doctors predicted would happen. He hadn’t attempted or even slit a wrist. He draws a lot though. He draws pictures of us. He titles them ‘People I Want To Be When I’m Older.’ He drew Ray, you and me. You were the first he drew, Frankie. The doctors asked why he drew you. All he responded was ‘He’s my role model and I love him.’ Isn’t that lovely, Frank?” Mikey added, gasping for air again. Frank nodded once again, more tears running down his stained-red cheeks. “He’s doing amazing! And do you want to know why? Do you really want to know why? Well, it’s because we aren’t there. He is fucking having the time of his life without his best friend and little brother there, trying to help him through his. Doesn’t he need us? It hurts to see someone going through pain and angst and causing you to do the same, be happy without you in their life. Now, are you still wondering why I refused to tell you this?” Frank wiped his nose on his jacket sleeve, and nodded a last time. Mikey took yet another sip of his coffee.  
 “Oh- and another thing. Like I said, he’s been sleeping punctually. They are thrilled, like I said once again. But he would say things in his sleep. And what are the things he’d say, you might ask. They were about you. One time, he said that he missed you and loved you. He doesn’t need me. He couldn’t give a fuck about me, Frank. But he cares deeply about you. He also once said that he couldn’t and wouldn’t live without you. Frank, you need to see him. I know you don’t want to see him. Neither do I. But he wants to see you!” Mikey lectured, taking his last sip of coffee, setting the mug in the sink, aggressively. Frank gasped.  
 “He misses me?”  
 Mikey bobbed with lots of enthusiasm, indicating Frank to go and see Gerard, which neither of them had done in a week.  
 “Fine, I’ll go. Just to please him,” Frank lied, grabbing his wallet and opening the door. He’d wanted to see Gerard in a long time, longer than he’s remembered. He still loved Gerard, the same love he felt that night. And he would always feel that way about Gerard even if he were conceptual. He was still the same man, just under some emotional tape. They just needed to peel off the tape and there would be the regular Gerard all of them knew and loved. And to remove the tape was lots and lots of therapy. The more therapy, the better, Frank liked to think.  
 Frank walked out the door after saying goodbye to Mikey. Was he really going to go through with this? Mikey could have easily made up that story to put Frank to the wolves: Gerard. He winced at the thought of an angered Gerard overthinking that Frank had no feelings for him. He might as well think that. They hadn’t talked in a week. He had the perfect reason to hate him. If they were dating, which how Gerard liked to think of their relationship as, they would have probably broken up with the lack of communication.  
 Frank sighed and dialed the hospital’s number to aware them of his arrival.  
 “Welcome to the NJMH, how may I help you?” Alison called.  
 “Hey it’s Frank. Is it a good time to come over?” Alison cleared her throat.  
 “Great, in fact. He’s… He’s ready for you,” Alison replied, mistrustfulness and jealousy entering her voice. Frank beamed, still walking down the hall.  
 “Good. Tell him I’ll be there in ten minutes.”  
 “Oh, don’t worry; I will,” Alison murmured, smiling a criminal smirk then hung up.  
   
 ~Ten minutes later~  
 Frank entered the hospital, astonished at the works of art hung along the wall. Most of them were Gerard’s. It was a surprise honestly. The ones with Gerard’s signature on them were unnaturally dark. One of them had trees, as if in the woods, and then there’s a guy walking and is being choked by the trees. A nurse walked over to him, looking at the sketchbook papers also.  
 “He’s amazing. He’s the best artist here. We are incredibly proud of him,” the woman explained, leading him to Gerard’s room.  
 “Two hour limit,” she stringently added, wandering off.  
 He strolled in, hoping to see Gerard in his bed in the same gown he was in last time, then his face spontaneously lit up when he saw Frank, but the lights were off. He flicked them on, and then a woman sprinted from the corner to Frank and equivocated a bat and knocked Frank out. The last things he saw was a long blonde braid fly through the air, other then the bat whacking him hard in the face.  
   
 ~That next day~  
 “Possible side effects; amnesia, mouth usually very dry, and slight depression,” declared the doctor as Frank and Mikey rested at their office. Frank rubbed his head with a bag full of ice wincing at the insignificant pain here and there while Mikey answered all the questions.  
 “Fine, but he is concerned about the slight depression bit,” announced Mikey, reading Frank’s mind while Frank just nodded, peeking at the objects in the room. The doctor sighed then giggled a bit.  
 “Nothing to worry about. Those things never happen,” she leaned next to Mikey’s ear, “you know what everyone says; only bad things happen to bad people.” Mikey raised an eyebrow, and then shoved her off.  
 “Isn’t it bad things happen to good people?” Mikey and Frank giggled while the doctor slapped Frank’s prescription in Mikey’s hand and allowed them to leave. Then walked up to leave as Frank alleged,  
 “All I did was obey you. What the fuck did I do?” Mikey shook his head, leading Frank to the exit.

 “Nothing, Frank.” Frank stopped and Mikey turned to face him. He removed the ice bag from his head displeased. Everyone had fled from that area so they were completely alone.

 “That’s what I’m saying! I just visited Gerard –like you said to– and Alison fucking tackles the shit out of me!”  
 Mikey nodded, stirring Frank toward the direction of the car outside. He held his smartphone up to his ear, calling the hospital, yet again. Frank ascended in the car unintentionally and disordered. Maybe the amnesia was kicking in.  
 Another employee: “Hello, how can I help you?”  
 Mikey: “Can I speak to Alison?”  
 Same employee: “Uh, yeah sure.” (Muffled sounds of yelling and footsteps reflected into the microphone of the phone.)  
 Alison: “Hi. You wanted to speak to me?”  
 Mikey: “Yeah, I kind of wanted to know why you knocked my friend out earlier today?” (A time-consuming and uncomfortable silence occurred while Mikey waited for her to respond and confess.)  
 Alison: “Sorry.”  
 Mikey: “Sorry? Fucking sorry? He has amnesia and is as dumb as a board, and all I get is a sorry?”  
 Alison: “Okay fine. I was kind of jealous that Gerard had feelings for Frank and none for me –and he called me a slut by the way-“ (Mikey giggled a bit.) “So I guess I kind of panicked. I am sorry. I really am. I will do anything.”  
 Mikey: “Fine. But I do want one thing.”  
 Alison: (Her eyes widened and beamed.) “What is it?”  
 Mikey: “Allow Frank to see Gerard without you striking the shit out of him, or so he said.”  
 Alison: (She snorted unobtrusively.) “Ha-ha. Will you come too?” (She flirted, twisting her hair with her finger, although Mikey couldn’t see it.)  
 Mikey: “No. Bye.” (And he hung up, causing Alison to be dumped once again by a Way without even dating them.)  
   
 ~Ten minutes later~  
 Frank sauntered in again, responsive of his ambiances if any other nurses had grown jealous of him too. The amnesia had already worn off providentially, because that could have lasted days or even weeks. Alison paced up to Frank, her picturesque blonde hair collapsing behind her back. “Hi,” she whispered, leading him to Gerard’s room without any source of real conversation, apprehension or hesitation.  
 Frank shoved himself in, exhilaration and eagerness controlling his body when he knew he was going to see Gerard. He glowed at Gerard once he opened the door. Gerard had his gloomy and dark black hair flopping in front of his face, like it always did, and he was still wearing the gown like Frank pictured would happen. Gerard smiled extensively and leaned Frank to sit next to Gerard. He sat next to him.  
 They each drowned in awkwardness and silence. What even was there to talk about? They weren’t really friends anymore, right?  
 “I saw the pictures you drew, G. They are amazing, and I’m really proud of you,” Frank bellowed animatedly, making Gerard giggle with joy and gratification. He hadn’t smiled or really made a face since he got there, and Frank made him laugh. That had to be an accomplishment, right?  
 “Thanks, Frankie.”  
 Frank burrowed his miniature head in between Gerard’s shoulder blade without hesitation. They both just smiled and sat there, talking and asking questions. Gerard had never had someone care about him for a long time, which made him feel loved, and even better; his adored Frank loved him.  
 “How is it here?” Frank catechized, then resting his chin on the top of Gerard’s head in bewilderment to gesticulate he was listening.  
 “It sucks,” Gerard indicated unassumingly.  
 They talked and talked and talked until they had lost track of time. The door opened to reveal a monumental and comprehensive nurse that led Frank out once they reached the austere two-hour limit. Gerard whined for the nurse to discharge Frank and allow him to stay longer but Frank never got released. Instead he started to cry and then his nurses and doctors offered him his prescription to fall asleep. And he did.  
 As Frank seized his wallet and was about to leave when Alison halted him.  
 “I apologize, first of all. And second, I just want you to know I think Gerard really cares about you. Like, he was heartbroken when he heard you got hurt. So, please visit often and don’t get hurt. If you do, he probably will do something he’ll regret, and you’ll regret also. Please visit almost every day you can, and bring Mikey too. Mikey needs to interact with Gerard. He talks about him a lot,” Alison pontificated, then snatched a business card, penned something on the back of it and handed it to Frank, “and give this to him. Tell him he can call or text me whenever he wants.” Frank looked at the back of the card. She had transcribed her number on the back. Frank rolled his eyes and gestured goodbye to Alison. She smiled and waved back, walking back behind the counter. Frank reproduced a grin and moved toward the exit.  
 He crumbled the card and heaved it into the trashcan when Alison wasn’t looking.                    
   
 _ ~That next day~_  
 _After yesterday, Frank and Gerard were confused about everything. Did they secretly really love each other? On the other hand, Gerard is drunk and has been treating him like dirt for the past two weeks. No one quite ever knows what Gerard has in his head. He didn’t really think of what he’s doing. He doesn’t think before he speaks or does. Frank had a completely different thought of the situation. He didn’t love Gerard but maybe his feelings for him were starting to reflect back. He might have regained his feelings but he’s still unsure._  
 _Gerard twists his all-encompassing head in Frank’s direction, shooting a timid smile at him. Frank winces but still fake-smiles back. Gerard bobs his head then increasingly steps toward Frank._  
 _“Hey, babe.” Frank coos surprisingly. He didn’t mean to say that. Maybe he did. Did he? He thought he was over Gerard. He was, wasn’t he? Even if he weren’t, Gerard would never take him back. I mean, look at what he did to him. He had made Gerard go completely insane. Gerard could never forgive him, right?_  
 _Once Gerard is closer, he inclines toward Frank’s ear, “Hey,” he nibbles on Frank’s ear soothingly, “babe,” Gerard adds seductively erogenous._  
 _“Aw, you make me happy,” Frank purrs at Gerard’s nipping giving him questionable pleasure. Wait, no, no. Frank didn’t have any feelings for Gerard. They were done. Over. They would never reunite. They wouldn’t, would they? However many times Frank hallucinated the thought of Gerard taking his back, it would never come reality. However many times Frank can think it, it will never rise to its full potential of what Frank thinks it. But, Frank can try all he wants._  
 _“The sound of your rasp voice makes me thrilled with envy; envious that I can’t have you anymore to Jamia. Apology to the shit I’ve been giving you, and tell Jamia she’s a very lucky woman. Tell her to treat you right, my love.”_  
 _Frank gapes a bit. “You aren’t letting me go, are you?” Gerard cackles criminally._  
 _“No. When I have you, I’m going to keep you. You can be my little pet I never had.” Frank shivers of fear at the horrid thought of being raped again._  
 _“Frankie! Why are you scared?” Frank shrugs. “Honey, there is nothing to be afraid of.” Frank scoffs, struggling to cross his arms over his chest in frustration._

 _“Except for you Master,” he retorts condescending. Gerard widens his eyes at Frank for his discourteous and uncanny comment._  
 _“Do you actually want to be afraid of something? Because that can be arranged.” Frank compellingly shakes his head, while Gerard nods. Gerard is miraculous at making people afraid of him; or in most cases, just Frank. Frank is really the only person Gerard still talks to except his beloved Lindsey. Mikey never even bothered to call or anything. They had lost touch after Gerard got married._  
 _At that thought, Gerard went for the phone._  
 _“Gerard, who are you calling?” Frank questions apprehensively, scared he is maybe calling Jamia._  
 _Ring, ring._  
 _Mikey: “Gerard!”_  
 _Gerard: “Hey Mikes haven’t talked in a while.” (Frank heaves a heavy sigh of relief in the background drawing no attention to him.)_  
 _Mikey: “Where are you? We should meet up sometime. I’ve really missed you.”_  
 _Gerard: “I’ve missed you too. I was scared that maybe I had lost your number. But, I’m sad to say I don’t think it’s a good time at the moment, maybe another. I’ll call you when I am ready.” (Which also meant whenever he had nothing else to do and after Frank escaped. He knew he was going to one way or another.)_  
 _Mikey: (You can hear a huge sigh of despondency exhale Mikey’s mouth.) “I guess I understand. It’s just that we hadn’t seen each other in so long, I- well, just manage to have fun whatever the fuck you are doing because it seems to me it’s pretty damn important if you didn’t want to see me because of it after a few months. On the contrary, I am your brother but whatever.”_  
 _Gerard: “I’ll call you when I can and we can schedule something. (He glares at Frank and takes a deep breath.) I think it can work at lot sooner than either of us expect.”_  
 _Mikey: “Great. Bye, Gerard Way.”_  
 _Gerard: “Bye the same emotionless Mikey Way I know and missed.”_  
 _Then Mikey hung up. Gerard sounds_ almost _regular._  
   
  ~That next month~  
 Frank had been visiting Gerard for the past month every day for two hours. They would just talk and cuddle and such until the two hours were up, and the usual crying fest by Gerard and lecture by Alison continued; everyday someone (Gerard and Frank) would create some new questions to ask. To think that that could make Gerard not as depressed was just compulsive. Of course, the nurses and doctors worried that the only thing that kept Gerard healthy and lucid was another guy, and not a type of medicine of some sort. They tried all they could with sleep medicine and other types of medicine to make him feel better but it never worked; all he did was screech for Frank to come back.  
 The nurses and such were very pleased that Gerard had found the love of his life, yes. They just wanted him to be happy of course (even Alison). They were rapturous that he was improving and taking his regular medicines and he treating everyone satisfactorily and isn’t treating the nurses contemptuous and everything was going just adequate for Gerard in the hospital. But, when Gerard went into testing and possible surgery that meant _no visitors_ would break Gerard’s heart. He wouldn’t recover as soon. That could possibly make the testing _worse_ and he wouldn’t see Frank any sooner.  
 Frank was scrupulously Gerard’s only desire but when he can’t come (or wouldn’t come, who knows what Frank was thinking) he would literally shut down. And despondently, testing time was coming faster and faster. And sulking wouldn’t make it come later. I swear, all the nurses have already tried it.  
 Mikey rested on the couch, watching a comedy show with lots of skits and stuff but he wasn’t paying much attention. He was fretted about Frank. He left _five_ hours ago to visit and talk to Gerard and they had a two-hour limit, and if you crossed over two hours you were banned. I mean, where could he be? He should been home two hours ago (adding the traffic and the lecture with Alison).  
 Mikey precariously dialed Frank then he picked up after one ring.  
 Frank: “Mikey… Hey.” He said it so casually it petrified Mikey.  
 Mikey: “Where the _fuck are you_? I’ve been waiting five hours!”  
 Frank: “Oh. I’ve been with Gerard. I thought I told you.” Frank face palmed him over the phone.  
 Mikey: “I thought it was a two hour limit. I thought I told you?” Mikey added mordantly, flipping his no-hair.  
 Frank: “I heard the flip you little diva. You get it from you brother, don’t ya?” Mikey sniggered into the microphone.  
 Mikey: “God Frank. Why did they expand the time limit?” Mikey rolled his eyes.  
 Frank: “Oh _right_. Because they realized I gave Gerard joy and he’s only happy when he’s with me. Sadly, I think I’ll leave soon.” You can hear Gerard yelling in the distance, ‘Frankie, who are you talking to?’  
 Mikey: “Can I come pick you up, honey?” Mikey probed, wittingly sounded racy to confuse Gerard. He loved to mess with his brother even when he is nonsensical.  
 Frank: “Yes please, baby. See you soon,” squawked Frank, playing along with his game. He blew an imaginary kiss. They hung up.  
 Sometimes Mikey confused his _own_ sexuality. Most of the things he did, it questioned him again. He might have had a few girlfriends in his lifetime but he still kissed Frank. Whatever he said to himself, he had always kissed Frank. Frank doesn’t think anything of it but Mikey does; a lot actually. He looked at Frank differently after the kiss. And after Gerard became depressed (but Mikey likes to call it ‘sadder than usual’) Frank and Mikey started to bond longer. And, of course to Mikey only, sparks _flew_. Then Gerard and Frank clicked and he realized they were over but Mikey still had unimportant feelings for Frank.  
 _Everyone loved Frank, didn’t they?_  
   
~Twenty minutes later~  
 Mikey waited for about ten minutes (and those ten minutes were full of concern and trepidation) until he left to pick up Frank. He hadn’t called; he hadn’t texted. Who would know what was going on with Gerard and Frank? Well, obviously, Gerard and Frank. But no one was allowed _in_ while they were talking (so Mikey assumed). To be honest, he didn’t want to think any longer. Mikey was known to be an over-thinker.  
 When he got there, he saw nurses surrounding a room: was that _Gerard’s_ room? Mikey took a moment to over-think like he usually does. It just came instinctively. Was Gerard _hurt_? Did Frank hurt _him_? (See? It’s just over-thinking.)  
 Mikey walked over there profligately, his no-hair flopping in the no-wind. He just liked to call it his no-hair once he shaved it all off to become Miley Cyrus. It made him feel special.  
 “What’s going o- _Frank_? _Gerard_?” Mikey yelled with passion. Gerard was crying in his bed, and so was Frank. What the hell could’ve happened in twenty minutes? They clung to each other, hand in hand, of course sobbing as loud as they fucking could. You know what they say; when you’re in pain, break your brother’s eardrums.  
 They didn’t let go when Mikey approached; they just cried harder. Mikey inclined over to one of the nurses. She had hazel eyes (much like Frank’s) and a big smile (also like Frank’s). She stared at him in total incredulity.  
 “What _happened_?” Mikey murmured to the nurse, who was still staring. She groaned, like it was the daftest thing she had ever heard in her entire life.  
 “Gerard found out that… testing. Need I say more?” She added, satirically.  
“Well then.” Mikey susurrated under his breath, causing her eyes to widen of offensive disbelief. Mikey no-hair flipped and sassy sashayed away toward Frank and Gerard. Mikey was one _feisty_ diva.  
“Guys. Stop crying. Please.” Mikey supplicated to the two sniffing boys. The desolation and despair in the room almost made _him_ want to cry. He hugged Frank, who was hugging a distraught Gerard. Both of their eyes were pink of crying. It was despondent to see both of them in so much agony; especially his baby Frank and his brother Gerard. That part really created Mikey to feel the way he did: guilt. He didn’t cause it but he felt debauched but that he couldn’t _help_. And he desired to help plenty. He liked to make people feel better; even if it caused Mikey to sacrifice his humble little Frank for he had favored so long for.  
“Why should I? My life fucking sucks and it’s _my_ entire fault. Why do I have to be so fucking depressed? God,” muttered Gerard, sniffling into a tissue Frank provided him. Mikey and Frank covered their mouths of shock and distress. Would Gerard really commit _again_? It sure seemed like it.  
“Baby, don’t think like that!” Frank said, rubbing Gerard’s back sympathetically. Mikey winced at the word ‘baby.’ He cringed with jealousy. “You know we love you. And it’s _not your fucking fault_. I fucking love you and you need to start to. You have a reason to live and that’s why you were put on this earth. They aren’t here to fail. You need to believe in yourself the way I believe in you. Please stop crying. It’s just a week or so. Not the fucking end of the world.”  
  Frank rolled his eyes and slurred very mellifluously but enough for Mikey to hear though, “fucking diva.’ Yes, it was true. He did get his sassiness from his brother, and that created him ecstasy inside his little heart.  
 Gerard dipped this head and they negotiated (surprisingly) that Frank would visit when he was allowed to. But everyone knew that when Frank really _was_ here he would agree but when he essentially disappeared he would shriek. For Frank, he would just be waiting and shit. For Gerard, it’ll be major hell. Frank didn’t realize that, and he never would. Gerard would practically become even more miserable.  
 Frank and Mikey had escaped from a sobbing Gerard when they had left. No one said it, but they were all thinking that he was acting like a four year old kid who wasn’t getting the toy he wanted.  
  They departed with a depressed Frank and an exasperated Mikey.  
 “C’mon Frank. You’ll see him _soon_! Why the fuck are you crying?” Mikey shot at Frank while they drove home, breaking the uncooperative taciturnity.  
 “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I guess I’m just o-overrea-acting,” Frank spluttered, wiping his nose on his sleeve.  
 The rest of the ride was discreet and uncomfortable.  
~That next morning~  
After Mikey gave him _another speech_ , Frank hadn’t talked about missing Gerard or seeing Gerard or anything about Gerard. But once the hospital called, hell happened.  
 “Fucking _answer_ it! Mikey! Let _me_! Get the fuck away. _Get the fuck away I’m trying to call them_ ,” Frank innocently howled at Mikey who was just trying to pick up the damn phone. Frank was just anxious and Mikey had to think of that. He had been waiting eight hours for that call.  
 “Gerard? _A nurse_? Get me Gerard! _What do you mean he can’t talk_? _What do you mean he’s under testing_? _What do you mean he can’t communicate?_ Hell, I’m going to fucking talk to him. Give him the phone. _I said give him the fucking phone or I will stick it up your ass_. Ha-ha, walk faster,” silence erupted as Frank waited for Gerard. “ _Gerard_! _What do you mean you aren’t allowed to talk now_? Well, have fun I guess. Bye.”  
 Frank hung up indignantly, slamming the phone down and running a few fingers through his hair in deep thought.  
 “Frank… Do you want to get your mind off things? I know a place that I think you might like. I think Gerard would’ve liked it too. C’mon. It’ll be fun.”  
 Frank waggled his head, already grabbing his wallet and beanie. He slithered his beanie on his head and shoved his wallet and phone in his back pocket. He unfastened the door, strode out and anticipated for Mikey.

  
~At the _special place_ ~  
 Frank and Mikey sat at a coffee shop: Starbucks. Gerard’s _favorite_. Was Mikey trying to torture him? _It would be fun_ he said. _You’ll forget about Gerard_ he said. _They have great coffees_ he said. Frank was vehement.  
 “Are you _having fun_?” Mikey asked, biting his knuckles. He was petrified. Frank looked infuriated (and he was too) which scared Mikey. He was _trying to help_. That’s all he could’ve done. Yes, it wasn’t paradise. But Mikey was just trying to make Frank feel better. He was only thinking of Frank. (And never of himself. He wasn’t that think of person.) But Frank didn’t see that. All he saw as Mikey trying to make Frank feel worse.  
 Gerard would come there every Saturday, but Mikey didn’t say that. He was stupid but he wasn’t _that_ stupid.  
 “So. How the coffee?” Mikey asked fearfully, biting his nails. Frank brochette out his coffee (that he was drinking) and almost choked. Mikey’s audacity to say that _disgusted_ Frank.  
 “Great; but not the thought of _Gerard_. I can _feel_ him here: him drinking here. Did he tell you to do this?” Frank examined, condemning down his coffee cup indignantly.  
 Mikey widened his eyes at _Frank_ ’s audacity to say that. It _disgusted_ Mikey. How could he say something so… so _insolent?_ He (obviously) didn’t see that Mikey was trying to _comfort_ him.  
 “I’m trying to _help_!” Mikey roared while Frank threw his drink away infuriatedly.  
 “Well, you suck at making people feel better! _Fuck you_ Mikey Way.” Then Frank zipped out the door, repudiating to hear Mikey back himself up. He was really _done_ with Mikey. His heart was already throbbing that he couldn’t see Gerard, but now Mikey was trying to trigger back that memory? That was the last thing Frank wanted to happen. Frank realized; the brothers (Gerard and Mikey) sucked at helping Frank when one of them couldn’t. Maybe they weren’t as dependable as Frank thought they could be.  
 Mikey placed his head in his hands, reciting vulgar quotes toward him. He really liked Frank and just when he was just trying to help he left. Maybe that was a sign that Frank wasn’t for Mikey. Mikey just needed to learn to _give up_ on his dreams, because they would never happen. Well, with his luck anyways.  
 Mikey’s plan was to take Frank to the bookstore next door, to buy him a book of some sort. But, he didn’t give Mikey the time of day to let him explain it. A little bit inside, Mikey hated Frank _a lot_. Honestly, Mikey didn’t want to speak to Frank but considering that Mikey had nobody left (except for his brother but I think we all know how that turned out).  
 Tears started marginally in the corners of Mikey’s eyes but he daubed them away.  
  
  ~Mikey’s house; 2 hours later~  
 Frank had called him about six times. Mikey didn’t know whether to pick up or to let it go to voicemail. Who knew? Was he still mad? Probably… Mikey wasn’t up to having an extensive lecture about how senseless decision he had made and how much he hated him and such. He just wanted to forget about everything in his life. He wanted to forget about Gerard, about Frank, and Ray, about his parents… He just wanted to live a normal life.  
 He recoiled his feet on the coffee table, sipping his late-night apple cider. Even though it was February, it still felt good. He adored putting cinnamon sticks in it to spice it up; Gerard and Mikey would always do that together _too_. Maybe apple cider to forget about Gerard wasn’t working too well.  
 He chucked the mug he was holding in hands onto the floor, out of wariness and antagonism. It demolished, scratching the floor vaguely. Sometimes, much like that time, Mikey conjectured if he was like his brother. Was Mikey closing everybody out _too_?  
 He couldn’t let that happen.  
 He phoned Frank, dialing each number petulantly.  
 “Frank! Hey! I, uh… Oh, yeah I can call another time. No, it’s fine. Bye.”  
 Not even Frank wanted to speak with him. What was he going to do? He only knew what he _wouldn’t_ (and/or couldn’t) do; he would not follow in the footsteps of his brother. His brother wasn’t necessarily a role model or a person to look up to.  
 Mikey wanted to call Frank again; he had to. He couldn’t just let everyone he cared about slip through his fingertips. Well, he wouldn’t let that happen _again_. Mikey and Gerard _were_ dead to each other.  
 Mikey: “Hey! Frank! Can we speak?” (Frank yearned, setting something down.)  
 Frank: “Yeah. I want you to hear you _apologize_.” (Mikey’s mouth dropped open out of repugnance. Is that the actual reason he called Mikey? He doubted it.)  
 Mikey: “Fine.” (Mikey kicked his feet up again.) “ _Apologize_.” (Frank’s mouth dropped too, for the same reason.)  
 Frank: “Me? _I_ apologize? Why?” (Mikey scoffed indecently.)  
 Mikey: “You barely let me _fucking speak_! I bet you were wondering why I took you there? Hm… Was I _right_?” (Frank twisted his bottom lip. He really wanted to know the whole story, so he broke down.)  
 Frank: “Explain.” (Mikey explained the story, comprehensively at that too.) “Oh.”  
 Mikey: “See? I was _trying_ to help. God. You jump to conclusions too fast. Now, can we start today over? I think both of us need it.” (Frank sneered ambiguously. He admired that Mikey wanted to start things over again; he did too. He reviled to fight.)  
 Frank: “Yeah; I would really like that.” (Frank’s face flushed.)  
 Mikey: “Okay- Hey Frank!” (Mikey called with inclination.)  
 Frank: (He laughed with Mikey.) “Hey Mikey! I heard you wanted to talk me somewhere?”  
 Mikey: “Yeah, a bookstore.” (He dynamically checked his watch; although he didn’t have a watch.) “I think we still have time. Want to go now?”  
 Frank: “Yes. I’d really like that.” (He blushed while biting his lip.)  
 Then, they both hung up at the same time, counting backwards from fifty, complemented. Again, Frank _nor_ Mikey _nor_ Gerard (still remember him?) was sure of whom they liked, even loved. Things were moving too fast. It was almost too much for them to handle.  
   
 _~Two weeks later~_  
 _“So, have you talked to Mikey recently?”_  
 _Gerard chokes on his own saliva, at the question Frank lays out._  
 _“No. No I haven’t.”_  
 _Frank smiles. He knew he is provoking Gerard; it’s what he’s been trying to do but he wasn’t conjoining in the joke. Not like he expected him to._  
 _“Oh. Well, you really should speak to him. I bet he wants to talk to y-“ Gerard stops him mid-sentence._  
 _“I don’t need_ you _to tell me what to do and what not to do.”_  
 _Gerard is now livider than before. He snarls and cracks his knuckles. He bites his lip while circling around Frank. He is now strapped up against the door, just like the first time. Frank bites his lip at Gerard._  
 _“You don’t know me,” snaps Frank, sounding a lot similar to something Gerard said a while ago. Gerard narrows his eyes on Frank, leisurely figuring out what he said. It takes him a while nonetheless._  
 _“If I didn’t know you, do you think that you’d be here right now? Do you think I’d leave a_ stranger _in my possession? I know you more than I know myself. Do you want to test me?” Gerard scowls, rubbing the side of Frank’s face with his knuckles._  
 _“Again, may I ask, why am I here?”_  
 _Gerard chuckles and lifts the phone up to his ear:_  
 _“Hey, Mikey. I think Frank wants to speak to you?” Gerard smirks and shares Frank the phone. Frank seizes the phone and talks to Mikey. Gerard takes a nap in the process. Was it two, three hours of talking?_  
~Three weeks later~  
 For the past three weeks, Mikey and Frank had been visiting the bookstore and coffee shop, everyday. They created a reputation with the coffee employees with the amount of times they visited there and ordered a cup of coffee. They just brought their laptops and talked and laughed and shared stories and bonded and not once did anyone mention Gerard. Isn’t it _great_ that they were having an eccentric life without Gerard? Meanwhile, in Gerard’s life, they were giving him shots and blood drawings and shit. Isn’t it _fair_ that Frank and Mikey get to have a remarkable life without Gerard? Gerard’s life was a _living hell_ while Frank and Mikey were fucking drinking coffee, which Gerard would have liked very much, and having fun without him? In Frank and Mikey’s perspectives, it _was_ fair and it _was_ great. No one even _thank_ about Gerard; meager, blameless little depressed Gerard. What had _he ever done_ to deserve such audacious ignorance toward him: even the love of his life skimming him off for his _brother_? Didn’t Gerard deserve a _great_ life? Didn’t Gerard deserve a _fair_ life? Didn’t Gerard deserve some _fun_? All Gerard wanted was to be free and without the freedom, he had nothing. Just obliviousness from the people he cared most about. _What had he done_?  
 Mikey and Frank sat down at their regular table, placing their coffees next to their laptops and many comic books. They always bought the same comic books and read them the next day at the coffee shop. Then, when they were done, when Gerard came back they’d give them to Gerard. Hopefully, Gerard was still into drawing and shit. (Frank and Mikey didn’t necessarily know what to call it. Sketching? Drawing? Painting? Neither of them had seen Gerard sketch, draw nor paint. None of them knew what materials he used. They just went with drawing because ‘drawing’ had multiple meanings.) Of course, they didn’t think of that; barely Gerard at all. Did Frank even like Gerard anymore? Did he even like Gerard in the beginning? Maybe he _had_ developed feelings for Mikey. Of course, _Gerard didn’t know that_.  
 They unfastened the same comic book and read aloud to each other. But firstly, they examined the cover:  
 “’ _The Incredible Hulk_.’ Ooh, issue 473, February 1999. _Classic_. This’ll be good,” called Mikey, flipping through the comic book, coherent with Frank. Frank pulled a minor piece of hair behind his ear, in a slight flirty way.  
 “ _The Power of the Watcher_. Oh, this is a _good one_ I’ve heard somewhere,” answered Frank, spinning through the pages, same as Mikey.  
 Guess where Frank had heard that? _Gerard_.  
 “ _The Edge of Universal Pain_. Oh, that reminds me of someone, I forget who,” Mikey aforesaid, reading from the pages while Frank shadowed along.  
 Guess whom Mikey was talking about? _Gerard_.  
 Did they remember Gerard? No. Did they care for Gerard? They didn’t talk about him enough to remember. Without Gerard there and (still) being tested, he couldn’t break anything up or say anything. No phone calls or visits were allowed. No communication. And to keep things short: Frank didn’t like long-distance relationships.  
 They read the comic books synchronized, sipping their mochas (ha-ha, sorry but that sounds gay…) and almost holding hands under the table; luckily, _almost_. Man, that would’ve broken little Gerard’s heart. Hadn’t he _suffered_ enough pain? Mikey grabbed Frank’s knee, while Frank rubbed his knee against Mikey’s. He moaned of bliss and pleasure. Never had Mikey felt so happy and… _free_ in his life. _Everything_ was going his way.  
 People stared but they couldn’t give a fuck what people thank. Yes, they were in public. Yes, it might’ve been _wrong_. Yes, Gerard was fucking dying inside when Alison walked into the shop and saw Mikey and Frank locking lips for five minutes straight and told on them; a fucking _mess_ after that. He cried and sobbed; and it wasn’t because of the jagged needles they were sticking into his friable arm. Gerard _loved_ Frank and he wouldn’t let him go. He thought he had feelings for him. Or that’s what Gerard _thought_. He wanted Frank to love him. Was he not good enough? Did he have to be better? Did he have to recover? Whatever he had to do, _he’d do it_. Because when Gerard loved someone, he’d do _anything_ for them to be together. He wasn’t the type to _quit_.  
 Mikey broke the kiss, wrapping his arm around Frank as they grabbed their comic books and headed for the exit until they saw Alison. Her hair _was not_ in a braid and she had her employee shirt on with ripped jeans.  She was holding some money in her hand. Oh, and she was also _crying_.  
 “Frank? _Mikey_? What the _hell_ is going on? Did I _miss something_?” She shot a condemning look at the both boys, who were crying also. They unlinked and flew their hands to their sides, sucking in the tears. Alison shook her head.  
 “I- I don’t know. I don’t know what’s going on, honestly.” Mikey blurted out, distastefully wiping his nose on his sweatshirt sleeve. Frank just gaped at him.  
 “Yeah. Something got into me. I’m going to _regret this for the rest of my life_ ,” called Frank, clandestinely embracing Mikey’s hand behind his back. Mikey bit his lip, secretly also.  
 “I- I’m so _disappointed_ in you two.” Alison twirled away, responding her order to the Starbucks employee. She smirked their way as they left, _still thoroughly in love._  
 _Gerard is still in that pain._  
  ~At the bookstore~  
 They browsed the comic book section, still holding hands. They were _very_ self-conscious about Alison seeing them. They didn’t _want_ to talk about Gerard or even be involved with the woman who took care of him. Mikey didn’t like to speak that they were even related. Imagine that: Frank and Mikey were actually _close_ to Gerard and cared about him and shit. Of course, Frank would visit Gerard when he was done with testing. Did Gerard _want_ Frank to come? At that period of time; more than anything in the world. After Alison told him, yes, to fucking kill him.  
 Gerard despised the two, egocentric guys who couldn’t keep their fucking hands off each other. Inside, he still loved Frank. He wanted to cuddle with him again. He wanted to ask questions and talk with him. He wanted to hug him and kiss his deific temple. He wanted Frank to be his, but he couldn’t anymore. Yes, it felt good to realize that they were both gay (that both admitted it) but not the outcome. Inside, he also abhorred Frank.  
 “Did you mean what you said to Alison back there. Because I didn’t mean a th-“ Mikey asked, but he stopped mid-sentence when Frank wandered off to the romance novels. He scratched his head, grabbing a random book and pacing into an indiscriminate place to read it.  
  _The Love of the Shy Boy and the Boy Who Couldn’t Control His Feelings._  
 Frank laughed a soft laugh and turned to the first place, skipping the Acknowledgements.  
 “That sounds a little like _Gerard_ and I.”  
 For the first time in a long time, the name that seemed that he was forbidden to say sent a superfluous and erotic chill down his spine. Oh God, did he have feelings for two men? No, he had to pick one. He’d have to eventually. He sighed and read the first page aloud, sounding the words out perfectly just like Gerard used to do when he read to him:  
 “ _’It all started when Michael decided to plant a indulgent and slimy kiss on my lips, and I was pathetic enough to kiss back. At that point of my life, loving the same gender was iniquitous. The feeling felt absolutely the opposite; gorgeous; sycophantic; criminal; gratified; and at the same time, just plain_ right _. But then, we were kids. Adolescents. Youngsters. Offspring. Progenies. We didn’t know the difference between love and heartbreak, goddammit._  
 _For a few years we just ignored it; we just pretended we were regular individuals. No one could have thought we planted a kiss. We could have one a whole lifetime without speaking about it- but the thing was, I wanted to speak about it. I wanted to tell him that I liked the kiss- loved. I wanted to tell him that it made me feel like an electric current passed through my body. I wanted to tell him how happy it made me feel afterward. I wanted to tell him that I couldn’t get the kiss out of my head for the three long years we had both ignored it for so long. I wanted to tell him that I didn’t want to ignore it anymore.’_ ”  
 Frank closed the book, and flipped to the back of the book, for hopefully the author’s name. He tossed three-hundred pages and read a calligraphy written signature written next to a picture of the author: _James Smith._ Eh, sounded like a normal name. Fair enough.  
 But right next to it made Frank gawk with despondent curiosity.  
  _This story had been cancelled from producing or selling, and to who ever sells or buys this copy of book will be held against charges. This book shows an inappropriate conflict for this country and we refuse to let this be sold in stores._  
 He shut the book and wrapped it inside his jacket, only holding it in between his arm and armpit. He walked and collected Mikey who had purchased the last comic book of their _‘The Incredible Hulk’_ collection. He thanked Mikey, but honestly, he couldn’t care less. All he could care about was Gerard and he and how that book related so well. But the other half of him didn’t want to talk about Gerard. Just Mikey. Now, he couldn’t think of that (as much as he was _thrilled_ to decide between perfect men) but now was time to return home and read the whole book. _Alone_. Oh God, how long had he wanted to be alone?  
 “Cool. I have to head out. See you later,” responded Frank, gutturally waving goodbye hoping to escape but Mikey just couldn’t fucking allow that to happen.  
 “I’ll walk you home, don’t worry,” Mikey added, catching up with Frank grasping his hand with Frank rolling his eyes and not refusing. Frank sneaked the book under the other arm once it was about to fall out when Mikey released to wipe his hand on his jeans because of sweat overload.   
 Once we reached my apartment building, he attempted to peck a bantam kiss on his cheek but Frank pulled away before he could, waving goodbye and walked to his room.  
 He opened the book after he sat on his comforter. And he fell asleep with the book spread across his chest; he was on page sixty-six:  
 “’ _And that’s when my heart broke; it just fell onto the floor. He, the man I had actually thought of loving, left me. I had given him my all and that’s all I get? I now have nobody. Nobody cared. I’m useless. I’m here to fail. I’m an embarrassment to all human nature; to society; and vilest, to my Michael. I’m a nobody living in a shithole everyone calls a world, a home. Well, it’s not a home. It’s a place that I’m scared to be in. A home isn’t a place that you’re scared to live in. A home is somewhere where you can feel free no matter whom you are. But, I don’t feel that way anymore. My home is slowly slipping away to emptiness and no prominence. My life is progressively dissolving before my eyes. The reason to live is persistently vanishing, gone. The only thing that does matter in my life is that bottle of pills sitting over there,_ So tempting _. He shoots… He scores.’_ ”  
  “Gerard… Gerard _stop_! Let go of the pills! I care… _Let go_. I’m sorry, now _let go_. Let. Go,” Frank benevolently whispered into his pillow. Was he imagining Gerard in the same situation the guy in the book was? _Yes_.  
 “I love you Ger.- I don’t love him! I don’t love him _anymore_! I love you. Please, _believe me_.” Was he imagining that Gerard was mad at him for the Mikey _mishap_ and threatening him? _Yes_ , but dejectedly, he wasn’t imagining that one.  
 ~That next morning; 10 am~  
 Mikey tapped his fingertips on the rim of his coffee cup, humming to an unfamiliar song; it was _Frank’s_ favorite song was all he remembered. Oh, right, _Frank_ because that’s the exact person he wanted to think of then. He took another sip and swallowed hard. He stared down at his feet thinking.  
  _Maybe his feelings for Frank have disappeared._  
 Feet appeared next to Mikey’s; a pair of Steve Madden sandals. _Ah, must be a typical white girl._ And he was _shockingly_ right.  
 Alison sat next to Mikey, grasping his hand in her lap, squeezing it and smirking. Mikey slightly smiled at her.  
 “Why are you here alone?” Alison asked, rubbing Mikey’s knuckles tenderly trying to sooth him.  
 “Frank kind of ditched me,” responded Mikey, wiping the excess hair out of his face with his free hand, biting his lip faintly then releasing. Alison gasped slightly and benignly.  
 “Wow. You know, if we were dating, I’d _never_ ditch you,” Alison whispered, scooting the chair closer to Mikey, pivoting her index finger along the side of his body. He twisted the ends of her hair.  
 “Oh; I _know_ ,” retorted Mikey, changing his fingers to her mouth, moving it up and down her lips. She opened her mouth and Mikey removed his finger and planted a lenient kiss on her lips. She kissed back and grabbed his neck judiciously. He grasped her hips and pulled her closer once they arose from their seats. Alison smiled against his lips, breathing into his mouth. _His mouth smelled of spearmint gum and a peppermint mocha from there._  
 “Well you go out with me?” Alison asked against his rough lips while he sucked on the side of her neck, balancing her on one leg. He let out a detestable snicker, releasing his grip while she stumbled to her feet. He clutched her back and pulled her diligently to him. She nibbled on his ear while he moaned of hedonism. Not once did they think that they were in public having a fathomless make out session in the center of Starbucks.  
 “You bet my _ass_ I will.”  
 She licked her lips but she hauled away, grabbing her things and dragging Mikey out the door,  
 “C’mon- let’s go _explore_ this big city. There are lots of _places_ to see in this town. Let’s go see them.” She winked; Mikey winked back and followed her out the door.

  
 ~Same time; Gerard~  
 He sat in his bed, the same bed he had been sitting in for a while now; a few weeks, maybe a month or two. He never really cared to count. His life was back to the useless thing it was before he got thrown in that prison cell- luckily, his time was almost done. Testing was about a week from finishing up and if the results were lavish then he could leave, and if not, he’d just attend one-on-one therapy sessions with an experienced therapist.  
 “You know Gerard, you’ll probably leave soon,” countered the nurse, collecting his (recently) used needles for blood drawing. He didn’t blankly stare past her, like he would’ve done a few weeks ago, or a month; instead he just smiled and shook his head in exultant agreement.  
 “Well, not like it will be a difference- I have no one to see.”  
 The nurse already left (everyone had already known to run if he started to talk about Frank. It would get him emotional. It’s like an expressive black hole; you can’t escape) and Gerard was alone, left staring at the _same_ gown he’d been wearing.  
 “ _When would he ever change this thing_?” Gerard asked himself, not expecting an answer.  
  **“When you leave; oh, that reminds me, good job. You’re _recovering_.” ** The walls crawled back, sneaking into the imaginary walls’ head, taking over the walls. Now, it would stay there until he left only to come back again. They kept coming _everywhere_.  
 “Oh, you’re back _again_. Can’t you take a hint, Dumbo?” Gerard snapped, picking at the eroded plastic bed handles.  
  **“ _Hint_? I’m in your imagination. I can come out whenever you have a brain or you think of me or someone you love. I am only here to make you hate them.” ** The walls admitted, echoes sounding through the insignificant room.  
 “F-Frank? I was thinking of Frank thou- I don’t love Frank. I fucking hate him. You’re _lying_.” Gerard snarled, clapping his hands together. _Were they really lying to Gerard?_  
  **“You love Frank but you can’t just seem to make up your fucking mind. I’ve been _trying_ to help you but there was this huge barrier. I wish I could’ve sooner-“**  
 “Oh, no, no. You came in the _perfect timing_. While my heart is broken? _I am broken_. Frank’s gone to be with my brother. I bet they’re fucking off in Frank’s bed not even thinking about me or worrying how I’ve been doing.” Gerard declared again. Why did he feel the need to ramble _now_? Talking to the walls that ruined his whole life?  
  **“Ha-ha. You’d be surprised at what they’re all actually doing right now. Mikey is making out with Alison. Poor Alison, huh? And Frank is reading a book that is about two guys who fall in love and break up and shit. He said it reminded him of you two? He stole the book and could actually be arrested for the copy of book to read about it because of your relationship, you two.”** Gerard heaved a heavy sigh, thinking that all out. **“Oops- too much to handle?”** He irately rolled his eyes at the four of them. He knew they wouldn’t lie about that. They were cruel on so many levels, but they wouldn’t push it _that_ far.  
 “R-Really? He cares about me? He remembers me? Oh my God. I need to pass this testing: for Frank!” Gerard cried.  
 “When is the big testing to determine if I’m ready? _When_?” Gerard snapped, about to stand up out of his bed. He twisted the bottom of his lip in pure anger and chauvinism.  
  **“Uh, I’m pretty sure I’ve heard the nurses saying at the end of the week-“**  
 “Great! Help me recover. _Help me_. I need to get out of here and see Frankie!” Gerard was standing, pacing around the room, and disentangling his _master_ plan.  
  **“Don’t get too excited- the test is really har-“** but Gerard didn’t need to hear it. His plan was actually planning out _perfectly._ He’d get out of there _that day_ with the amount of information he picked up over the weeks.  
 “I need to get them to test me today. I’m ready!” Gerard sniveled, smiling favorably.  
  **“I don’t know if it will be that easy, Way. I’d overheard them while you were sleeping-“** his plan was already laid out; it was done. And he didn’t need any more _obstacles_ in the way.  
 “I- it’s ready. I’m fine. I’ll pass. Why should _you_ care?” Gerard questioned, looking very over-confident. He cracked his knuckles.  
  **“You shouldn’t do it. It’ll be hard to pass. I’m just trying to help you.”** Again, Gerard was just trying to block out the walls. Since when had they ever helped him?  
 “Shut up. I don’t want to hear it. Now, just _shut up_ and allow me to actually get out of here. More than anything do I want to and see my little Frankie. Oh God. I need to see him. Please, can you just help me for once?” Gerard entreated, slipping into his bed.  
  **“No. I don’t like to _help_. I like to create pain and torture; don’t you understand that? Ha-ha, never in a million years. You’re on your own kid, _like always_.” ** Gerard rolled his eyes and pressed the big red button with a little nurse next to it. A lanky nurse with maroon colored hair darted in, walking over to his bed.  
 The walls’ voices disappeared.  
 “What is it Gerard?” She asked, a little bit too maddened and fatigued. He coughed deliberately into his arm, then turning back to her. _Step one? Check._  
 “I was wondering if I could take that testing final test early? The earlier I can take it and pass it, the sooner I can see Frank and you guys don’t have to put up with me. It’s a win-win situation?” Gerard alleged, crossing his arms trying to negotiate. _Step two? Check_.  
 “Uh, yeah, I suppose you can. Let me call in your doctor…” The nurse beamed, exiting the room. _Step three? Check._  
 His doctor marched in and sat at his toes, examining his clipboard.  
 “So, I’ve heard you want to take your test now? Well, let’s get started,” the doctor beamed, handing Gerard the clipboard. And best of all- the questions were ingenuous. _And step four. Check._

1.      _What do you dream about?_ All he wrote down was ‘monster trucks and skateboarding’ because that was what normal guys liked to dream of.

2.      _Describe the feeling of love._ He started to pen his true feelings of love: ‘it just sucks. One day it just warms your hearts and it feels mind-blowing. But once the love fades off, you have nothing left. Everything just kind of starts to collapse, just like your life.’ He wouldn’t _lie_.

 And astonishingly, there were only two questions. He slipped the paper into his hands. He thanked Gerard and exited, waving goodbye to Gerard. He waited about five minutes (with constant yells from the walls but he didn’t pay attention) when that same maroon haired nurse walked in with the same paper in her hand. She sat at his feet, and Gerard watched in incredulity.  
 “Wow. _Great job_ , Gerard! You passed!” She handed Gerard the paper but he didn’t look at it; he was too blissful.  
 “Thanks Nurse I Don’t Know The Name Of!” He hugged her while she soundlessly mumbled her name but he couldn’t hear it. He was too ecstatic. When Gerard released he walked into the office and announced his goodbyes. But improbably, Alison wasn’t there.

  
 ~Frank’s apartment.~  
 That book is still in front of his face- it had been for the past fourteen hours. He was on the last pages, and he had been _very_ committed to finishing the book. Once he flipped to the last page, he started to tear up a bit as he read it aloud:  
 “ _’He didn’t love me. He wouldn’t love me. He’d changed. Society had changed the man I loved. Although, I still love him. The thought of Michael now just made me cry. I still had strong feelings for him. Once he’d left me, life wasn’t important anymore. God, look what he’d done to me. He’d changed me. I’d become a dissimilar person._ I _had changed. I didn’t even know myself anymore. I was gone. He was gone. Everyone was gone. I didn’t even need to pick up the pills or the blade or the rope. Life had already killed me. Everything around me was withering. Everything around me was dying. My mind, my thoughts had killed me. I might not have been dead, but I was killed.’_ ”  
 He sniffled a little bit and slammed the book, not even thinking to flip back to the author autobiography. He lobbed the book across the room, with rage and… and realization; realization to the fact that he loved Gerard; _and Mikey_. How could he decide only _one_? Yes, he knew he had to. Between Gerard, who loved Frank more than his own life and would do anything to possibly be with him, or Mikey, who he barely had any history with but whenever he looked into his eyes, he fell under a hypnotic spell.  
 But he didn’t have to decide that until Gerard was unconstrained, and with the amount of progress Frank had heard at the time, he thought that time wouldn’t come soon. He mounted up, and paced around the room, attempting to figure the vast question in a trifling expanse of time.  After he governed and suspected for thirty minutes, his phone echoed by the exact person he did not want to talk to: Mikey. Somehow he collected the courage to answer it, and then dragged it up to his ear:  
 Mikey: “ _Frank_! Guess what just happened? Oh my God…” (Worry was creeping in his voice, which disconcerted Frank.)  
 Frank: “ _What is it_ , Michael- I mean Mikey.”  
 Mikey: “Gerard was released. _Today_. I heard he’s coming over there to talk to you…” (Frank would’ve let him continue, but he couldn’t hear anymore.)  
  Frank: “What? _Now_? I can’t… I mean, why now? Why not later? Later is good. Later is _guh-reat_. Yeah, can we schedule that? Ha-ha…” (Mikey shook his head, and face-palmed Frank.)  
 Mikey: “The nurses said he passed the test early to see you. You have to see him.”  
 Frank: “No, I don’t know…” (Then, the doorbell reverberated, and Frank adjourned up. He hung up.)  
 Frank walked to the entrance and opened the door; his hand was still trembling from fear and dismay. There stood Gerard; his gown was (finally) off and he displayed a green t-shirt, some ripped jeans, and some white Converse. He also sported an extensive smile, intensifying to his upper cheeks when he saw Frank. Frank was… he was absolutely gorgeous. Gerard was… he was charming. Frank’s tangled expressions twisted inside of his body. Gerard was not making that decision any easier.  
 “H-Hey, Frankie. I _missed ya_." Gerard winked then sanctioned himself in, sitting on the couch. The strange thing was the walls weren’t talking to him this time. No, something had to be going on. He couldn’t just pass. It wouldn’t just pack and that would be goodbye. They would’ve stayed longer. They would’ve stayed until he killed himself again. They would’ve made him pay. _Revenge_. And that’s exactly what they’d do.  
 “Hey Gee. I didn’t know you were coming except a few minutes ago…”  
 “Oh, do you beloved Mikey tell you that? _What the hell is going on with you two_? One day you hate each other, next you’re making out in Starbucks. God Frank. You’re so…”  
 “Bitchy? Pathetic? Useless? Is that what you came here to tell me; because if so, I don’t want to hear it. I’ve heard enough of it as it is and I don’t need _you_ to emphasize that point.” Gerard’s mouth fell open.  
 “I was going to say unpredictable. Striking. Compassionate. But after _that_ I think you words describe yourself very well.” Frank face-palmed himself.  
 “Oh my God Gee. I’m so _sorry…_ I’m just tired and I miss you and…” Gerard quieted him and gesticulated Frank to sit next to him, to, which Frank did. He arranged his head in Gerard lap and Gerard played with Frank’s hair. That was now his _‘thing_. _’_  
 “Now, explain what happened while I was gone, when you couldn’t visit me,” Gerard sighed, his voice a little hoarse but Frank found it endearing. _Sexy_.  
 “Are you sure? It’s a pretty long story,” Frank glanced up at the clock, “and it’ll take a long time.” Gerard could care less how long it took to explain the story. All he wanted was to hear Frank’s croaky voice for hours on end.  
 “Yes, I’m _sure_.”  
 “Okay, firstly, Mikey told me you missed me; that you cared for me. So, I visited you, and when you liked it, I started to visit more often. Then I came everyday for a month. And you know, testing. That broke me honestly. And Mikey saw me in a lot of pain and he said he would cheer me up. Guess what it was? He took me to _Starbucks_ , and since it reminded me of you and I didn’t necessarily want to be reminded of you so I kind of got mad at him. Then he called me that night and he apologized and explained and we met there again and… and he kissed me,” Frank’s voice cracked when he said that. Gerard just froze.  
 “D-Did you l-like the kiss?” Gerard tested. Forlornly, Frank didn’t know himself. No, he couldn’t decide but although that Gerard was concerned for him it wouldn’t help.  
 “ _No_.” Gerard beamed his stupendous smile once again while Frank continued.  
 “Then Alison saw the kiss and I felt horrible. I wandered off in the bookstore Mikey took me to and I found this book and… it reminded me of us. I just hope we don’t end how the book ended.” Gerard leaned into Frank, and this time, he didn’t hesitate or think twice when their lips collided. To Gerard, it felt like everything he’d been waiting for those long weeks. He’d waited for that kiss. And it was better than he thought. To Frank, it just felt _faultless_. It felt ten twice better than kissing Mikey. He never felt more freedom in his entire life _._ Freedom, he liked that word.  
  Incongruously, Gerard pulled away as if he life depended on it. He continued to stroke Frank’s hair, but Frank still wanted to be locking lips with Gerard. _Why had he even pulled away in the first place?_ _Didn’t he like Frank?_ At least that’s what Frank _thought_. Frank raised his eyes are Gerard by lifting his substantial head, but Gerard surged it back down. Gerard rested his chin on Frank’s head, showing that he just wanted to do _that_ and nothing more. No talking. Just slight cuddling for thirty minutes. And man, _no one said a thing_. It was diplomatic and uncommunicative, just like Frank liked things to be.  
 Frank had fallen asleep in Gerard’s lap, and Gerard loved that Frank was starting to trust him again. He had a lot of convincing to do to coax Frank to prefer him to his near-perfect brother. Who _wouldn’t_ love Mikey- he was faultlessness. (Not that Gerard was crushing on his little brother. That would be wrong.) But to think in Frank’s perspective, to strain to imagine what Frank thought of Mikey, he was _seamless_. He was _substantial._ He was _unstinting._ (Although, you could often debate that opinion.) Why shouldn’t Frank _admire_ him? Oh, right, because _Gerard_ loved him. He loved him more than his own _life_ , with the exhilaration Frank created Gerard to sense, was why Gerard felt the way he did. He helped Gerard with his downheartedness without even the insignificant thought of it.  
 After a elongated nap, maybe an hour or two, Frank elevated his head to stare into Gerard’s eyes, but something was inexplicably iniquitous: his eyes had changed to a eccentric dusky shade of green when his eyes were normally an alluring brown color. _Little did Frank know- his eyes turned to green when he felt guilt and equivocal source of agony._ He’d probably not see Frank in a while, with Frank’s decision that Gerard knew would happen.  
  _Why not just screw it up now, once and for all?_  
 Oh, right, because Gerard really favored and venerated Frank and he couldn’t despair that cursorily. And, because he’d probably already screwed it up without even trying- he was just _that way_. He seemed to screw a lot of things up: friendships, family, relationships (or what he thought was a _‘relationship’_ ), and pretty much everything in between. When Frank picked Mikey, (or of who Gerard expected Frank to choose) he wouldn’t be disappointed in Frank. He’d be _indistinctly confounded_ , essentially suicidal, insignificant misperception and a marginal amount of prognostication overpowering his overall body. He would create into the exact figure they imagined Gerard would turn into when he entered those mental hospital doors. He would literally be absolutely nothing without Mikey next to him, and Frank holding his hand and leading him the way, inaudibly whispering, “C’mon. Not much farther, Gerard! You can do this!” He’d try as hard as he could to survive without Frank, but not the sight of Frank _or_ Mikey for a few weeks (or months) he’d start to lose the meaning of looking. He’d start to lose the meaning of contemplating.  He would endeavor to find a guy to jealous Frank, but he wouldn’t find one just as _virtuous_ as Frank. He wouldn’t find one as _unique_ as Frank. Frank was Frank and he would never find anyone like Frank.  Gerard smirked an amusing smirk; enough for Frank to believe Gerard was okay as long as everything else he was thinking of. Frank beamed an elegant smile back, and relocated the redundant hair out of Gerard’s face: in front of his green eyes. He slightly shuddered at them, of uncontaminated disbelief. He made Gerard to look malicious and wicked, especially with that daunting scowl of his. Frank thought he was thinking of some sort of unconceivable plan to use against him but he had no idea. A concerned Frank was a calamitous Frank and he had finally conciliated Frank.  
 “I-Is everything all right Gee? I-I am getting a little c-concerned…” Frank swallowed, sitting up and emancipating from Gerard’s mollifying and (unusually) warm lap. Gerard gasped widely at Frank’s use of words, from the “ _c_ ” word. It scared Gerard. He was _concerning him_ , the exact thing he was shirking, but with Gerard’s luck, it would most likely happen in the worst of times, and _lookie_ _there_. It did.  Gerard unsealed his mouth to begin a statement; that would probably be the explanation with distress also clambering inside his voice, but he tentatively sealed it. He was contemplating from whether to declare the truth, petrified for the reaction or to fretfully speak a lie, also distressed for the result. Without even penetrating his question more than once, he decided to finally talk to Frank, without it either being something negative, or something that made Frank to be left with blank to negative thoughts. Although, at this point, who even knew what Frank was thinking.  
 “Yeah, everything’s fine. Just fine. No need to worry, be concerned, or burden. Everything’s under control and will be under control until it’s over, done, and it’s dead so we won’t have to speak of it anymore. I’ve got everything handled, so just please cuddle with me while we still have time. Just before,” but Gerard didn’t finish his sentence, as much Frank supplicated him to, he never did. He just laid his head in Frank’s shoulder and browsed scary movies on Netflix. Gerard had always had a thing for scary movies; Frank had always had a thing for watching scary movies with Gerard. Gerard would never flinch, scowl, gasp or even shed a tear when someone died. He was too strong during movies but when he missed his dear Frankie, he was a mess. _How come?_  
 “G-Great, G-Gerard… But, are you sure everything’s fine? Because you’re really… really _tense_ and I’m kind of worried and I don’t want you to be upset or anything, and that… you deserve to be happy and live a happy life and there’s nothing for you _to_ worry about and I just…” It took a while for Frank to take into notice that he was rambling, and that maybe Gerard wasn’t listening, although he was listening meticulously. It wasn’t because he was talking _about_ Gerard, but because of his malleable jawbone, his jaw _line_ , his articulate New Jersey accent and how he jerked his head forward and back when he spoke. Gerard just found Frank so delectable, with his size and all. Gerard liked to think Frank was the _one_ for Gerard (although, that was hard to debate). Maybe, just maybe, Gerard had finally found the _love of his life._ Yes, it could be overreacting but he still remembered how they met: _sappy, right?_  
 _It was in kindergarten; yes, kindergarten. It was that time when they went and jested outside with other boys and girls. They would track and play ‘tag’ and the teachers yelling at the kids who ate the sand. It was a perfect seventy-degree weather day-and everyone loved going outside. They loved the feeling when they lobbed on the monkey bars, and when they sprinted as fast as they could with his too-long hair understandably propelling into their face. But there were some kids who didn’t like to exercise or jump or run or lob or anything. They enjoyed kicking their feet while narrowly pushing on the swing set. One of the children was named Gerard Way, and he liked the type of music everyone else thought was “injudicious” and “outdated.” Nobody really talked or like Gerard. He was a discreet guy that always kept to him, never contravened the rules and portrayed in his chockfull sketchbook when the teacher wasn’t looking. He always wore the same obscure black hoodie and emerald green Converse. His hair was assiduously past his ears, and it was a medium colored brown with hints of blonde highlights overpowering his entire head. His never smiled and always sat in the back of the class, and would just wave when the teacher wailed his name out for attendance. No one liked him. He was completely unlikable._  
 _Then there was Frank Iero. He liked the color black, and that was the only color he displayed. He always had headphones located in his ears when the teacher wasn’t looking. His hair was jet-black and everyday it (peculiarly liberally) slouched over his eyes, and he never stared anyone in the eye cumbersomely. He was an stubborn human being. Frank didn’t have any friends either, and he didn’t want any. People were just startled of him, and it just distraught him. But, Gerard wanted to be his friend uncomfortably. He would stare at Frank when the teacher scolded Gerard for ‘not paying attention’ or ‘drawing when she was talking.’_  
 _So, Gerard merely tripped Frank, and Frank collapsed to the floor, while Frank was weepy and Gerard was jumbled. Of course, he hadn’t known what pain was and he hadn’t known why Frank was crying. He just wanted to be friends with him, but making friends wasn’t how he thought it would be. His only friend was his brother, Mikey, but he kind of was forced to be his friend. He wanted an unprompted friendship. Little did he know, Frank (somehow) wanted to be friend so he agreed to the uncanny friendship card Gerard donated Frank? He was a stalker as a kindergartener._  
 Gerard stroked Frank’s hair, but Frank heaved away, terrified. Gerard opened his arms, to signal he still wanted to cuddle and kiss and love Frank, but Frank didn’t collapse into Gerard’s arms. Tears commenced in Gerard’s eyes, but he didn’t screech or holler or heave anything as much as he wanted to. Frank just stood there, waiting for Gerard to leave. Gerard could tell with Frank’s tightened eyes that Frank wanted to be alone. He wanted to accumulate his thoughts and Gerard didn’t want to object. Although, he was merely heartbroken that that cuddle was the last time they would cuddle again. He could just feel the future rejection in the room. Gerard knew he hadn’t been what Frank needed, and now he would pay for it. He knew he needed to be the bigger person and not be damaged again. He didn’t know why, but he knew somewhat that next day, he’d be walking home with (another) broken heart. And yes, he’d be heartbroken and disconsolate, and he’d pick Mikey, he _knew_ it. He’d refuse to look his brother in the eye, and that merited friendship that Gerard had tried so hard to gain would evaporate. When Mikey brought Frank home, he’d leave the house. But he could plan that out later. Gerard needed Frank to be happy, and that’s all that Gerard wanted, even if he wasn’t happy with him. He cared about Frank more than anything, and all he craved was Frank’s exhilaration. Just those grins emerge on Frank’s face made Gerard’s heart warm. He knew he had to suck up the pain and just find a way to perceive Frank’s happiness through the trifling slit of his agony, anxiety and unease. He loved Frank and he’d do anything to make Frank happy; even if that mean giving him up to his own brother.  
 “Uh, yeah, I’ll just go. I’ll see you tomorrow?” Gerard stammered, enlivening himself up and meandering the doorknob open. Frank nodded and walked to his room, suspecting that Gerard would just leave, which he eventually did after some prolonged fantasizing in the doorway. He raced down the walkway of apartments to his six floors up so he sped to the row of elevators and strapped his fingers on his apartment floor number. The electric doors closed and he could feel the pulleys of the elevator boost him up. He tightened his fingers on the linoleum handle. Once the elevator reached his floor, he withdrew conventionally and rustled to his apartment. He unlocked the door and ran in, crying his head off. He was fucking done acting “normal.” He loved Frank and he wanted him to be happy but if he picked Mikey, he’d lose it and he knew it. He was in love, and wouldn’t it hurt to see someone you cared so much about and loved, love someone else? Wouldn’t it _burn_ you inside? That’s how Gerard pictured it would happen.  
 He chucked a pillow, then a chair across the living room and screamed and cried, lowering to his knees. He pulled the strands of his hair in wretchedness. His ability to prophesy or thought of prophesying was now a curse more than a blessing. He hadn’t gone crazy or anything, these things were _“normal_. _”_ (Or at least how he put it.) He had recovered, and he’d like to keep it that way. He didn’t want people to know he’d be entered in a mental hospital. _Speaking of the mental hospital…_ Gerard had just thought of the perfect idea to release all he perplexity and despondency. What a better idea than a knife and convalesced wrists and thighs?  
   
  ~Same time; six floors below~  
 Frank had been sitting on his bed for the past hour debating over Mikey and Gerard, although it should’ve been an informal debate. He whimpered and cried of misunderstanding. Shouldn’t he have known it wouldn’t be so easy? Shouldn’t he have known it would be that hard? Shouldn’t he have known the big final decision wasn’t simple? He shortened into the floor, submerging his head in his hands, weeping pugnaciously. No one would know the discomfort he was feeling. He just couldn’t decide. It felt as if all the thinking, he had lost the feeling of his brain because he wasn’t using it.  
 “I can’t decide. Maybe this will help me! Can’t hurt to try,” Frank cried ardently in his vacant bedroom. Unimportant tears swelled in his eyes as he intimately eyed the pencil sharpener from across the room, sitting on his study desk. He struggled the trivial blade out of it, fastening the insignificant screw out. Without thinking twice, he retained the blade against his impeccably clean wrist and caressed it against his wrist unevenly into a half circle on his upper arm. He couldn’t feel anything really, but it did feel incredible and revitalizing. Infinitesimal drops of blood gathered onto his arms then multiplied to big assortments of blood that eventually seeped on the floor, blood-staining it. He forcefully smiled and continued to scrape five more straight lines on his right wrist, next to the half circle. Frank heavily breathed out of the pain he felt, but he knew he had to do that. He was literally pouring his thoughts and his pain onto his arms. Once his artworks were finished, and once all you could see when you looked down was blood, Frank stopped cutting but unlike Gerard, he didn’t stand and admire his work. He _scorned_ his work. He had written _Gerard_ in blood and cuts on his right arm and _Mikey_ as in blood and cuts too, on his left arm. He hadn’t even thought of his poor plan enough, obviously, but he couldn’t do anything then. What was done was done. He paced to a clear wall in his room, attempting to sponge off the blood pouring off the _G_ and _k_ with his fingers. He seductively licked his fingertips but dragged away instantaneously. He turned his head toward the Mikey mark, adjusting it a few inches from the wall.  
 “Mikey- you’re amazing and you’re so caring and nice and I… I love you. You’re so fucking perfect I just… I can’t control my feelings around you…” Frank coughed, moving the hand to his side and replaced it with his right hand. Apparently that was the only way for Frank to display his feelings without going mentally insane and imagine walls interconnecting with him.  
 “ _Gerard_ \- ugh, saying your name makes me want to puke. I have so many feelings about you and I just don’t know how to handle them. We’ve had a lot of history and… And _what_? You make me feel so fucking bad about myself and I just don’t like it. You’ve made me come home and cry myself to sleep. Do you realize the _pain_ you’ve caused me? Do you even care about me? I… I don’t know if I can be with someone that has done that to me. I just don’t know. I don’t know if I still love you. I- I’m sorry. I- I guess I’ve changed and grown and _changed_. I have evolved and… And I’m just not sure if I can handle your constant criticism, looking into space, and ignoring me. It makes me feel weird and I’m just scared for you, I… I just…. I…” Frank tried to find the right words to describe how he was feeling, but it was problematic. One word couldn’t all the agony he felt, the discernible anxiety he grappled. “I just can’t be with you anymore. I don’t feel the same way I felt a while ago.” Then Frank couldn’t contain all of it. He just blew his top, I guess. “ _You are so stupid! I hate you so much asshole. Look at the pain you caused me! Look at what you did to me! Do you think I wanted to do this? I want to live a normal life. I fucking hate you! I hate you,_ Gerard Arthur Way _!_ ” Frank hurled his arm against the wall ferociously, hoping to actually give the actual Gerard pain. That was the whole point of it. It made an ostentatious noise that the neighbor asked if Frank was all right. That was a great question. _Was_ he all right? Frank knelt to the ground and originated to cry.  
 “See, Gerard? Look what you’ve done to me. I’ve _broken_ ,” Frank murmured, while he coiled up on the ground, shivering. He set the minuscule, bloodstained blade on the floor, next to his wilted, distressed arms and changed his grin to an ordinary flat expression. He was secretly disappointed with himself. He thought he loved Gerard, but the way he talked to his arm like it was Gerard… He started to question his conclusion. He wouldn’t just say those unpitying things to just anybody. There was always a cause with Frank. Now, he realized that book might’ve set a blasphemy on Gerard and him. They were faultless, and then what happened? That’s how the book ended. He already knew that somewhat Gerard and him would end like the book- but Frank wanted to have some sort of a happy ending. Hadn’t he deserved one anyways? After all the misery and misunderstanding, hadn’t he deserved some joy in his life? Hadn’t he deserved some rightful love in his life? He didn’t need Gerard’s approval to be happy, he was himself. And Frank wanted himself to be happy. Frank wasn’t naked, as Gerard was. He was in his boxers only but this thighs and arms were covered in brutal gore and blood. He slightly smirked, and moved to his bed, avoiding his bleached comforter. He was not proud of himself, and what he had done to his seamlessly decent uncontaminated wrist. Is that what it felt like when Gerard cut? _Is that what it felt like to go insane?_ He plummeted his head down to his right arm again, contemptuously.  
 “Gerard. I’m sorry. We just _aren’t meant for each other_ , I don’t love you,” Frank practice that line for hours on end, on how to shape his vowels and to disperse the sarcasm in his scrawny and hoarse voice. He hadn’t slept that night, but he didn’t need or want sleep. He wanted to determine his true feelings… and he had finally done that. It took eight long hours of screaming at himself and arm-banging against the wall but he finally did it. He wasn’t positive about his decision, but he didn’t need to be; he just wanted to know that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with that person. And he did. That’s all he knew and that’s all he focused on. He didn’t want sympathy, he didn’t want pain, he wanted love. And only one person gave him love, and hopefully he’d still feel the same way. Would he? Frank had been a complete asshole to him; he had every reason to hate him, but Frank didn’t want him to. He wanted to have a happily ever after. He _did_ deserved one anyways. _He did… didn’t he?_ He called for Gerard to march down six floors, he hadn’t heard or seen Mikey in a few days or a week. He was getting worried, but he didn’t need to worry about Mikey- he needed the news to leak to Gerard and Mikey. They would have to know sooner or later, but Frank didn’t like to handle broken hearts. He wasn’t great at comforting a traumatized heart, especially if he was the trigger of the anguish. He suspected he’d make it worse exceptionally with his disability to ease someone. Gerard reached in a few minutes, and he didn’t even need to knock; he just sanctioned himself in.  
 “F-Frank?” Gerard hoarsely questioned, tremor and sadness creeping in his voice. He had recently refused to call him ‘ _Frankie’_ again. He hadn’t full on equipped himself, but he was ready the take the denunciation and rejection. Gerard was a resilient, strong man, and he couldn’t break down to one meek rejection. He was sterner than that, and he was unquestionably better than that. At least, that’s what he thought. He thought he was audacious and dangerous. Was he? That could be quite controversial. Frank escaped from his room, and he sported a long leather jacket, somewhat similar to Gerard’s. Gerard had started to suspect something as wrong. He wasn’t the buoyant person Frank always was.  
 “Hey, Gerard,” thundered Frank, daunting and demoralizing. Gerard shivered of concern and acquired a seat on the couch, rather panicked. Frank sat next to him, and a black tear swept down his ghostly white pale cheeks. _He’s turning into me. He’s turning into what I was_ , Gerard supposed. Frank smirked menacingly. His eyes immediately dulled to an unfathomable gray, as well as his auspicious cheeks. He quit smiling and barred eyes with Gerard, repudiating to unravel, but Gerard didn’t want to look at him really.  
 “I… I have to tell you something,” Frank coughed, releasing the lock and stared at his sneakers. More tears spilled down his cheeks, but Gerard kind of liked Frank’s pain, but he knew that was bad. He liked that Frank was starting to feel the pain he felt, but nothing Frank could’ve done could rebuild the broken Gerard, as many apologies and kisses he tried. Maybe Frank would be broken too; that’s what Gerard wanted after all. Yes, it was pretty messed up, but it was true and factual. Gerard nodded his head, staring at his sneakers also. Frank’s hand found Gerard’s, and Gerard didn’t jerk away as much as he desired to.  
 “Okay… Gerard, we’ve had multiple experiences, and I know you very well. We’ve had our up’s and down’s. I’ve learned I’ve loved you and we’ve had our moments. You’re completely incredible, and I am very grateful to have found you. I’ve given a lot of time and thought into this and… I can’t be with you. I’m so sorry Gerard. I don’t expect a friendship again, and I don’t even expect a goodbye, but I want you to know, the year I’ve spent with you has been the most elating thing of my life and I’m glad to have shared it with you. I still love you and I always will, but I don’t know, something’s just pulling me towards Mikey,” Frank trailed off, and Gerard didn’t tear. He crushed his lips together, debating what to do next. See, hadn’t he predicted this would happen? Hadn’t he known that he would pick Mikey?  His precise predictions were beginning to fright him. He decided to approach the situation calmly, although he was eternally crying his head off.  
 “Y-Y-Yeah, it’s all right. Thanks for the memories and I’ll miss you bud, although I should see you around the house a lot now. B-Bye,” Gerard stammered, rising from his seat, kissing Frank softly on the cheek and vivaciously opened the door. He had planned over twenty different sentences to exclaim when he expected the news the night before, and he had picked one that he came up with on the top of his head. Gerard attempted to leave, unnoticed at that, because he just wanted to go. He didn’t want to be around Frank anymore; he couldn’t but contradictory to Frank’s opinion. He wanted Gerard to stay. He wanted to spill everything out to Gerard once more, and then he realized he had just made the vastest mistake of his life. Yes, it was a little too late for regret the sudden notice. What was done was done and couldn’t be changed. He had screwed it up. Frank felt like he has pushed into a pit of despair and seclusion and he couldn’t manage to pull himself out. He was stuck in-between two walls of desolation and slight confusion and the walls were closing in on him. He was choking, choking, and abruptly dead of depression. What could he have done to prevent that from happening? Everything, that’s what, he dragged himself to pick Mikey, when he knew it was the wrong decision but he went through with it anyways. If it was anybody’s fault, it was Frank’s. Frank was the one was cut himself; Frank was the one who decided Mikey instead of little beatific Gerard; and Frank was the one who let Gerard stand before him, nearly broken and decided to not do anything about it. Gerard didn’t show any sign of solitude or anguish, as much as Frank analyzed him, and then he started to wonder.  
 What if Gerard wasn’t broken? What if he was overjoyed that Frank had finally dumped him? (If they were together in the first place. That question, and answer, were still undetermined by the both of them but of course then they were finished and concluded so they would never know.) What if Frank had finally shed some light on Gerard’s future? What if Gerard had been preparing for that, the news? And yes, he had. The night before (without Frank knowing of course) he searching multiple websites for jobs opportunities and was left awestruck. He had landed a job for a comic book company in New York, not far from New Jersey, and he would work there for a month or two to produce the comic book Gerard planned out a few years ago: _Powerful_. He hadn’t thought of a good name, and he didn’t need to. The artwork on the cover was enough to make people draw their eyes toward it in reverence. That was the point of it all along. He needed Frank off the subject, and off his mind, to focus on his comic book and only his comic book. He needed silence enabled in his mind to work, and not the disturbing thought of Frank. He would leave in a couple of weeks just to clearly say goodbye to Frank and Mikey, who he still hadn’t seen, who he had lived with for his entire life. And with Mikey, a month counted as a lifetime. As if Mikey would accept Frank’s invitation, keeping in mind the pain and actions Gerard took to his own risk because of Frank. Didn’t Frank see that he hated him? Well, maybe hate was a strong emotion and word, but Mikey could say otherwise. Little did any of the men know, Mikey and Alison had started to date and were attached ruthlessly close to each other. You’d have to take a crowbar to pry those two apart. Yes, Frank still liked Mikey, but not as much as he loved Gerard. What else could he have done to screw it all up? All he had done was say one quiet “No” and his life had turned to hell, just with his amount of overthinking. He thought maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t overthinking but he was predicting the future. (Much like Gerard. Starting to see a resemblance, aren’t you?) Maybe it wasn’t called “predicting the future” but it could be something relentlessly close to it. No, he wasn’t gifted or anything, he didn’t have a special talent or anything of the sort. He just sort of, _felt_ it. He felt that it was a prediction and that the outcome would happen. Yes, Frank denied that it would actually happen. Since when did anything in Frank’s life go _right_? No, it wasn’t possible. With his amount of luck and fate, it wouldn’t occur. As if he wanted it to happen. No, he didn’t want Gerard to abscond from Frank. He knew where he wanted Gerard to be; exactly six floors up on 8C. He wanted him to stay there. He wanted to call Gerard whenever he felt cold, sad, bored or just lonely. He wanted Gerard and him to be inseparable. But that couldn’t happen now. Maybe Gerard hated Frank. He should anyways. Frank hated himself. Frank was being a obstinate brat, and he came across that way toward Gerard, even when he expected that type of behavior the second his eyes gazed upon that jet-black leather jacket draped along his arms. Gerard might not look ‘smart’ or ‘intelligent’ if you really knew him, but he had figured out that challenging puzzle, which wasn’t all that challenging. Just simply add the confused looks directed toward himself, his shaky and raspy voice when he spoke, the leather jacket of course, and how he could barely look Gerard in the eye. It all equaled to Frank realizing he had just made a mistake, he loved Gerard or he hated Gerard, but Gerard liked to think of the positive side of him and the situation. He liked to think that Frank still loved him- and ironically he still did. Of course, that sounded nearly impossible. Gerard should be despising him, scared to look at him; but Gerard felt the complete opposite. He _wanted_ to make Frank felt guilty. He wanted Frank to flood with blame and compunction while he left. That’s the whole reason he’d leave in the first place, right: to let Frank think it all out. He needed as much time he could receive.  
 “Bye, Gerard,” Frank slurred out the _G_ accidentally, and briefly fastened his mouth. He wanted to know exactly what was inside Gerard’s cramped head. What was he thinking of? Was he thinking of Frank? Was he thinking of his new job; or of his missing brother? Gerard’s life was a mess, but he handled to control it pretty well, not collapsing onto Frank’s entrance floor, not begging for Frank to stand up and hug him asking if he was okay. Not crazily wondering where his disappeared brother was. He should have cared more about the situation; but he didn’t. His mind was about to explode if he didn’t leave soon. The dismal image of a dismal Frank was scrambling his chaotic mind even more. And how would Gerard break that news to Frank? He’d be gone for a month. Frank couldn’t apologize for a month. They’d eventually lose each other’s numbers. They’d forget about each other. They’d slowly fade away from each other’s lives like they hadn’t had a part in it at all, despite the whole year of pain both of them faced. Did they deserve the pain? Well, that question is difficult to explain. With all the things they’d done in their lifetime before each other, no. Notwithstanding the slight cheating on tests and spreading white lies to their parents as children, they were great children; they had a great childhood. But then, with the humongous lies spread, the rumors, the cheating to each other’s faces were a complete different story. No, they didn’t deserve this bad of heartbreak, not so sudden. Well, not for Gerard sudden at all at least. With the sinful things they’d committed (except for drugs, sex, or smoking. They hadn’t done any of that.), they might as well end up in Hell. Well, maybe they already were. Their lives transformed into their Hell; a world without each other.  So, yes, they deserved the pain.  
 “Bye.” Gerard somewhat waved toward Frank, as Frank mimicked him, solemnly. Gerard never broke down as he supposed he would. His life wasn’t falling apart. His life was going better for him. Maybe Gerard didn’t need Frank. Maybe he could’ve lived without Frank. But he didn’t want to. The thoughts of Frank packed his head nauseatingly. As much as he wanted to get Frank out of his head, he couldn’t. He’d try, Gerard opened the huge door and left, leaving Frank sitting there regretting everything he’d done in his entire life. Gerard disappeared to his apartment to call his brother; to tell him that he was right. That he’d pick Mikey. Mikey had already known about Frank and he was still confused on how to enter the situation. He was still confused on how to escape the situation. Mikey didn’t love Frank, and he never would. Mikey wasn’t gay (anymore at least) and he had hurt his brother; or how the Way brothers suspected would happen to Gerard. They weren’t _wrong_ at least. Frank didn’t say anything else to Gerard or to himself. There was nothing to say. He couldn’t apologize; it was too soon. If he humiliated him, Gerard would really break down. Not that he would ever harm Gerard with words _intentionally_. And he couldn’t manage to squeak out the words, “Goodbye.” It gave Gerard the thought he actually hated him. Did he? _No_.

  
  ~A few weeks later~  
 To fill in the gaps, Frank and Gerard didn’t speak. They didn’t call, text or email, because they simply couldn’t face typing a lengthy paragraph to the other. It was just too painful to force thinking of each other for the amount of time it took to write it. Frank and both Gerard had kind of recovered from the “breakup” and neither of them was depressed anymore. Frank hadn’t cut anymore (like he had predicted when he broke the news to Gerard) and his cuts were curing promptly, as with Gerard. As with Mikey, he and Alison were going quite smoothly. He was having a great life, no regrets or complications until Frank called him shortly after Gerard left. Mikey let Frank off informal, and Frank took the breakup straightforwardly. No feelings were hurt, and they continued to be friends. (Frank has one friend. _Hallelujah_.)  
 Gerard, however, was still thinking about the comic book job in New York. He could think of ten _thousand_ reasons to live in New York for however long it took to produce and possibly publish his comic book. But he could think of just one to stay there in New Jersey and keep his unemployment “job” and sticking to living in his basically empty basement of a room, sketching cartoon characters he’d made up the night before and listening to heavy metal music from his earphones: Frank. Where would Frank go if he left? He would want him in New Jersey and not three hours and forty-two minutes away. (He may or may not have searched it just to be sure.) He wanted him just a few staircases away: not a few states away. He would miss him too much. He missed him already too much, and the knowledge that he would never be able to apologize or even say a simple, “Hello,” to Gerard to anything other than a cell phone microphone, but he couldn’t text him saying, “Don’t leave. I’d really miss you. Oh, by the way, I’m still in love with you, ha-ha.” First of all, nobody says that. Second of all, if people did say that, he’d never have the guts to, especially not to Gerard. He barely had the guts to say “Goodbye,” to him a few weeks ago, so unquestionably not a full sentence or conversation. His heart pounded outside of his chest and his brain wracked of millions of phrases and questions to throw at him. He absolutely despised the feeling. The feeling that something had maybe overcame him, but that wasn’t the case. Truthfully, the only thing that was overcoming him was awareness of his horrid feelings for Gerard. Hadn’t he felt enough already? Didn’t he get what he deserved already? Hadn’t he been through enough already? But he knew if he wanted Gerard to stay, he’d just have to wait. He had already had his affect on the situation, and he shouldn’t interfere.  
…  
 Gerard sitting on his twin bed, he dialed some random numbers that he copied off a sheet of paper. He scratched the back of his murky black hair on his neck. He kicked his feet up on the bed and laid his back then his head on the bed. He waited a few minor seconds for the couple rings until the company picked up. Gerard swallowed the huge gulp in his throat, releasing the other hand on the back of his neck, along with a long sigh. When the caller picked up, Gerard jumped a bit at the voice machine, but answered the couple of questions that gave him to move on to a real person. When he had answered all their questions and five long minutes of being on hold, a real caller answered. Gerard quietly shivered, praying that he wouldn’t screw this up. Any misinterpretation of words could land him back in New York, the exact place he was trying to escape packing for. He had already made up his mind, for one reason and one reason only: Frank. Wait, no, it was Mikey. Mikey. The whole point Gerard was allowed to move out of the house at the short age of sixteen was one condition, to watch his brother. While Gerard went to art school from 10 AM to 2 PM, Mikey finished high school three hours later. After Mikey graduated high school and attended a community college just a few blocks away, Gerard had finished his first college degree in _Fine Arts_. He did it only for his parents to finally be proud of him, but they hadn’t seen or talked since the big move of Gerard and Mikey.  
 “Gerard! Hey, have you decided yet?” The owner of the comic book company retorted, with no passion or emotion. Gerard tried to not sound as cold and cold as he did, but it was hard. He had been talking with barely any feeling for the past weeks, but Mikey didn’t really notice. They hadn’t really talked when Mikey was there. He would just grab a trivial granola bar for breakfast, wave goodbye to Gerard blank and leave to go to Alison’s house. (Of course Gerard didn’t know that. If he did, he would cry in a corner his whole entire life because he was single and slightly heartbroken. _Still_.)  
 “Uh, yeah I have,” Gerard answered, detached as always. He tried to sound as boorish and mocking as possible but it was hard because he was, well, _detached_. “And I’ve decided to stay here. Sorry.” Gerard shrugged, acerbically but all that came out was some awkward movement of shoulders that kind of looked like he was having a seizure.  
 “Oh. Well, your loss kid. It could have a world hit,” the man snapped. Gerard sat back up, and buried his head in his hands. He wasn’t regretting his decision; he, in fact, was just figuring out how to get the rude manager off his back. He had already made up his mind, and he wasn’t one to change his mind. (Of course, even if he wanted to change his mind, it was already too late. Everything was already too late to change in his life.)  
 “No, I think _I’m_ your loss. You can find some other snobby comic artist. I just think this snobby comic artist needs to try something new,” Gerard barked at the man, hanging up. He unburied his head, and wandered around the room. He didn’t regret one word he said. He realized that everything in the past few months, were nothing but regret. He should learn to appreciate his life and everything in it. Yes, with everything that had happened, it would be nearly impossible. But, nothing, absolutely nothing, was impossible if you believed in yourself. And that was the only thing Gerard couldn’t do. (Except for dialing Frank’s ten-digit phone number. According to Gerard, and Frank too, it was _insufferable_ to type the numbers. He just couldn’t bare it. It was… it was too much.)  
 Gerard paced his way to kitchen, to eat his confusion (and guilt?). Surprisingly, Mikey was in there and wasn’t with Alison at the same time. Apparently Alison still lived with her parents and she was grounded. She was just a year younger than Mikey, and he didn’t like that. Too bad it didn’t bother him enough to break up with her. Gerard was kind of getting sickening of the mid-sentence make out sessions in the living room when Gerard came out of his room (once a day, usually) to get a snack or to watch television. Of course, he thought of Frank during those make-out sessions, wishing they had the amount of ones Mikey and Alison shared, He wanted Frank back. Mikey was on the phone, but when Gerard walked in, he hung up and faced Gerard. He hadn’t talked, but his gorgeous sapphire blue eyes drained to a depressed grey, signaling he was still emotionless. Gerard could care less how Mikey acted. He was him own self and he could watch himself. Truthfully, Gerard didn’t care about Mikey’s emotion problem. He cared about Frank and why he stayed. He hadn’t talked to Frank, and he wasn’t planning on it. But he just favored the thought of being in the same building as Frank.  
 “Hey, brother,” Mikey declared, a bit of enthusiasm in his voice as he took a gulp of water from the glass cup next to his elbow on the counter. Gerard waved with a convivial and openhearted smile at Mikey as he filled a glass cup with water from their refrigerator. Mikey kicked his feet up next to the other as he leaned on his elbows on the granite countertop. Gerard shoved the glass mug against the trigger of the ice angrily, pushing it harder every time the ice didn’t pour out. Mikey just stood there in amazement, swallowing his water as if nothing was happening, and no sign of compassion or guiltiness crossed his mind to what he should have been feeling when Gerard was acting so furious. He should have known that’s what he should have been feeling, but he still didn’t feel anything. It was quite sad how little Mikey cared for Gerard on the exterior. Gerard on the other hand, was smacking his hand, and glass, against the plastic trigger on the fridge. When he finally held it on for more than a second, the ice poured and as it did when he tried the water section. Gerard promptly turned to facing Mikey while altering himself onto the table while resting his feet on the two chairs. Mikey stared at him coldly, kind of like it was burning a hole through his retinas. Gerard shrunk his fragile head into his shoulders, then released when reaching for a sip of water. He acted as if nothing had just happened.  
 “I told him. He wasn’t pleased,” Gerard countered, setting his cup next to his right thigh vehemently. All Mikey did was stare blankly at Gerard, as if he wasn’t listening at all. Gerard brushed his fingers along the side of his textured glass cup, waiting for Mikey to reply with either empathy or a solution for what Gerard should do next, considering he had no idea himself. He wanted to talk on the phone for hours with Frank on the other end, talking about guy stuff and each other, their personal lives and just them together is all, then he realized he couldn’t do that, and he’d never be able to for maybe the rest of his life. Gerard thought about him and Frank all the time, wanting to hug and squeeze his tiny torso, wanting to snuggle in his lap while he recited long poems that made absolutely no sense, but just loving it because Frank was with him; that’s all he really wanted but he couldn’t have what he wanted anymore. He knew it was Frank’s decision; it wasn’t his. He usually decided that Frank picked whom he picked for the better. He wouldn’t just pick whomever for any reason. He’d pick someone who he loved, and he’d pick him for a sensible reason. He just needed to rely on Frank’s conclusion that it was for the better. It could be because Gerard was a little obsessed over the thought of him, and maybe Frank found out when he only withdrew from the hospital to see him sounded a bit obsessive many people could put. Gerard, on the other hand, thought of it as true love. If you couldn’t get someone out of your head, let’s say a month, it was meant to be. And that meant the full package. Them going to sleep thinking about them, losing many or all hours thinking of them, sketching drawings of them, talking about them all the time, and just annoying the hell out of everyone you saw by ranting on about how gorgeous their cheekbones were or how unusual only one side of their hair collapses out a certain angle and direction was not obsessive, but true love in Gerard’s (apparently blind) eyes. Mikey adjusted his back to straighten and folded his feet out of the chair, but balancing them on the knobs by the dish cabinets diagonal from under the sink.  
 “Oh God. Well, dude you made the right decision and remember, they are just dickheads consuming your money and pay for other dickhead employees to produce comic books about dicks. You, my friend, do not deserve dickheads. Honestly, nobody does. You deserve happiness and honestly I’m still wondering if you are receiving that right now. Just do what you are happy and comfortable doing. You don’t deserve dicks, well, maybe you want dick but you don’t deserve one on a head. I just want you to be happy, Gerard. I really do care about you,” Mikey lectured, while Gerard laughed every time he said the word ‘dick’ because Mikey was usually a calm and quiet person, and never really ranted about stupid stuff like that, and especially for the sake of Gerard’s happiness. Honestly, knowing Gerard have someone who cared about him just made his life just simply good, or better. Ha-ha, as if it was good beforehand.  
 “Thanks, Mikey. I really did appreciate that you care about me enough to add the word _dick_ in every sentence; it makes me feel special to be honest. You’re the best little brother ever. I think I know what to do now. Again, thanks little bro,” Gerard slid off the top surface of the table, to come face-to-face with Mikey, and leaned in to hug him, pretty tight actually. Being the shy person he is, he didn’t hug back or do much really. Once Gerard released, he didn’t say anything either. Mikey didn’t usually talk anyways, but Gerard was getting slightly concerned for Mikey’s sake, even if he was fine. It was the older brother gene kicking in was all. Mikey was fine and he was just over-reacting, as Gerard thought. He was overreacting, wasn’t he? Well, he should just go with that because he was about to do, because of Mikey, would require lots of thinking, or most likely no thinking at all. Gerard walked to the entrance, grabbing nothing but his phone and his wallet, pushing both into his back pocket, already leaving the apartment after waving a tense shake to Mikey. All Mikey did was stare blankly past his head, but he did smile which was a sign of progress. Gerard departed profligate, having a specific place in mind to visit. It was a famous site of all of the things. Great isn’t it? He was thinking it would take his mind off of Mikey, the job and Frank in general. And what he wanted, and where he wanted to go, could offer him the potion to make all his problems disappear into thin air. Only one place could supply what he longed for.  
 A place called _Summit Bar_ right off the corner of Chestnut Avenue, not even a mile from the apartment building. He was excited to finally swallow some actual alcohol, despite that one time he was on a boat with some other family, he was 8, and he found the beer bottle and took and quick sip. His tongue went numb with no flavor and misunderstanding at what he had just downed, and the image flowed smoothly through Gerard’s head as he walked to the bar. He could already see the iridescent lights from the dirt sidewalk only a block away. Who would he meet there? Probably nobody, and if he did happen to meet someone or talk to someone he would never remember it, because he imagined he would become drunk. He would, but it was sick to think that you would do that, and it was worse that he was looking forward to it. He was looking forward to freedom in all of it. Not a little brother to tell you to stop. No annoying parents to tell you to turn around; and especially a pestering Frank, warning him what to do and not do. He wanted to be his own self, not a copy made by the four of them. Gerard wanted to be Gerard not a clone of Frank and Mikey’s behavior. He might have pushed it too far, but he could care less. He wanted his mind off Frank and Mikey, and that’s exactly what he’d get. Oh, and also a forgetful virginity loss and a punch in the face once or twice but it would be worth it. Hey, he’d get what he’s been after the entire time; because Gerard had been freedom the entire time. No, not love, but freedom. _Sarcasm._ Love was all he was after until that little stunt pulled by Frank, his whole perspective on his purpose on life had changed from love and adoration to freedom and sovereignty. That, personally, is despicable. All he wanted in life was to be drunk. He thought it would bring his bliss and amnesia, but really all it brought you was agony, and still a lot of amnesia. When he reached the entrance, he handed the man his ID, and luckily he was just over twenty-one to be allowed in. He was so ecstatic; he was literally skipping while entering.  
  He gawked at one specific person, and made his way over to them.  
 _…Meanwhile…_  
 Frank was running consecutively, hoping to find somewhere to rest although he didn’t want to stop. There was nowhere to go. The world around him had collapsed of despair and tragedy, as if he were trapped. He couldn’t escape from the great walls of depression that were slowly closing in on his narrow vein of life. Frank just needed one person or sign for him to erase his complete thought. He wanted to change it. He wanted to live happily ever after, even if his happily ever after wasn’t with Gerard. He just wanted to be happy, after Gerard and all. He wanted to smile again. He wanted somebody; he needed somebody. Frank crisscrossed from the side of the road to the made-of dirt, and filth sidewalk. He just narrowed his hazel eyes at his brown shoes as his selection of black hair folded over his eyelid, blocking his complete eyesight. He watched, tediously, as his left leg crossed his right leg as he walked, past a rose bush and some trees. He was completely lost in his train of thought that he forgot to look right in front of him. Once he saw some black flat collide with his, he shook his head forward, knocking the female head forcefully, on her chin, as much to create a bruise. Frank gaped at his mindless mistake, and attempted to comfort her while explaining he was sorry. She, herself, didn’t say a word, just a nonverbal nod of a head. As she raised her head, Frank locked eyes with her, examining her. Just examining _her_ , being very superficial. She also had long black hair, that ended at about her shoulders, a little past, and shiny hazel eyes with a gorgeous tint of green. Her face was well structured and her cheekbones were stunning. She, alone, was stunning. Without thinking a second thought, Frank was already in love with this woman.  
 “So- what’s your name?” Frank added, rubbing her chin for relaxing and soothing. The woman grinned a bit, and her face lit up, as her eyes squinted and her cheeks were almost pinch-able, she looked like an endearing little girl. Frank’s face stayed solemn, as much as he wanted to grin back her, he kept stagnant and subtle, trying to not scare the majestic woman away. She jumped out of Frank’s comforting hands, and rubbed the back of her neck, as Gerard used to do. She released her ponytail, and Frank watched her cramped hair flow out of her elastic band and rest on her impeccably structured shoulders.  
 “Jamia. And what’s yours, Pretty Eyes?” Jamia joked, as she picked the selection of hair that had been covering Frank’s right eye in entire time, in more of a romantic way than a friendly way of helping. Frank should’ve felt uncomfortable, practically as he had anomalous conversations with an obdurate stranger he’d just found on the street and wounded, but he didn’t. A gorgeous, obdurate stranger, and he liked her a lot.  
 “Frank.” Jamia leaned in, and when Frank thought she would kiss him, she rested her head on his exquisitely designed shoulders. He tried to not move them, as to annoy or drive her away. He had already driven away two people he loved and cared about, and he would hate to add another individual on the list.  
 “I, I like that name very much. Oddly enough, I think it suits you,” Jamia said, unintentionally seductive. She picked at Frank’s tie, as she continued to place her small head in-between Frank’s chin and his shoulder blade. Frank offered to drive Jamia to his place, until he realized he didn’t have a car, so they’d have to walk. He wanted to hang out with her, and get to know her a little better. He barely knew anything about her, besides the fact that he knew her name was Jamia and that she was completely stunning, and he wanted to know more. Apparently, Jamia wanted to know more about Frank as all, because she charmingly agreed, following Frank with interlocked fingers. For some strange reason, Frank felt comfortable around Jamia, as if he could tell her anything. He felt safe while holding her hand or just plain speaking to her. He’d never felt that way before. And Jamia, she felt the exact same way. Hey, maybe she was the sign for Frank. Frank had found his no-suicide sign.  
   
 ~6 months later~  
 Accordingly, six months later, Gerard and Frank both got married, but to different people. Both of them knew, considering both of them invited each other to the other’s wedding. They never talked at the wedding, just simply glanced at the other between breaks. Honestly, they hadn’t seen each other in half a year. Just resembling that face to the other one they’d seen was completely magnificent. Frank, got married to Jamia, the same woman he met that one day a few months ago. Gerard, on the other hand, did not have as much as romantic to their meeting story. They met in a bar, that same night. Oddly enough, Frank and Gerard don’t know that they both met the ‘love of their lives’ on the same day, and they probably never will. Anyways, her name was Lindsey, and she was absolutely _striking_. Same as the others, she had a great complexion and dark brown hair that had grown past her shoulders. She had a small tattoo aloft on her thigh of a black cross. She was always pleasant and lively. Lindsey was nothing but a perfect match for Gerard. They loved the same music, and basically the same taste in everything they agreed on. It was honestly pretty delectable.  
 Gerard and Frank hadn’t forgotten about each other; they still dreamed about each other or fell asleep thinking about the other. Just because Frank and Gerard were married to different people didn’t mean they couldn’t share feelings for another comrade. Okay, maybe they couldn’t, but they didn’t care. They couldn’t help what their mind thinks; the mind controls itself. The brain has one of it’s own. It controls itself while controlling them at the same time. Or maybe it didn’t. Whatever the case is, Gerard and Frank were still confused about things, and people, they shouldn’t have been worrying about in the first place. They should have been wondering about themselves and their wives, and their personal lives of course, but they weren’t. They tried really hard to focus and not daydream about the other while their wife was discussing something important with them, to what they needed to listen. They just simply didn’t want to. They wanted to think of Frank or Gerard. They loved the thought of the other comrade. Especially Gerard. Again, they shouldn’t have thought of the other as much they did, but what could they do? They thought of them for a reason, because for them, everything happened for a reason. No, it might not be a great reason, but there’s always a reason, according to those two at least. Lindsey nor Jamia knew why Gerard _nor_ Frank were just staring past their faces in complete thought, until they clapped their hands, annoyingly to Frank and Gerard, to break them out of the abnormal trance. They didn’t think anything of it, but they should’ve troubled about it more than they did, but they didn’t. All they did was simply nod and continue on with the conversation, as if their husband wasn’t daydreaming about another male in a romantic way, which was, again, the wrong thing to do. Lindsey and Jamia were so confused and mindless, and Gerard and Frank couldn’t, and wouldn’t, help them or even give hints. They didn’t know why they were doing it in the first place, and how were they supposed to explain to somebody else? No, that wouldn’t happen, even if they’d try.  
   
 _ December 21st~_  
 _Frank glares upon Gerard’s slumbering body, on the familiar bed covers Frank were tied to before. Gerard has his head, nestled in the pillow and the headboard, while moaning some unusual patterns, boring Frank. Frank is waiting for something, or someone, to burst through the front door, even if it wasn’t the person he was looking for. All he wants is some escape or sign; anything could please Frank’s needs. He needs to be set free; he didn’t want to be Gerard’s marionette. He wants to be his own self; he wants to see his wife again. He didn’t know who to blame, or what to do, but that didn’t matter now. He had already devised his perfect plan, and any flaws in the scheme to abolish the entire scheme. He eagerly alters his eyes from Gerard’s gorgeous, lethargic body to the tall Victorian entrance door, for maybe a twist of a doorknob or harsh sounds coming from outside against the entire doorframe. Frank releases his right hand from the now-loose rope, and scratches the back of his neck, inadvertently resembling a bit of Gerard, slapping his hand down to his side when he realizes what he was doing. The collision of Frank’s palm to his thigh awakens a lethargic Gerard, as Frank regrets what he did, Gerard adjusts up. Frank groans, slipping the excess the arm into the rope. Gerard eyes Frank, his every movement, word and expression. He knows something is up- he had known for a while. Ever since Frank had been acting strange, Gerard sort of realized, even if he is drunk, he still knows what’s going on. Gerard steps off the bed, and treads over to Frank, threateningly coming face-to-face with him. Gerard narrows his black, daunting eyes on Frank’s flaccid, wilting body from the lack of hydration and nutrition. His face is bleached, and so is every exposed piece of skin on his form. He looks almost as if he were lit on fire, and survived. He looked dreadfully unhealthy; it was sickening to stare at him. He looked detrimental, as if he were in Gerard’s skins. He could’ve. He fit the exact figure Gerard should’ve looked like, from his behavior, just he looked healthy and salubrious. He had been hydrated and fed, as Frank only snagged a bite of Gerard’s food when he wasn’t looking or he was sleeping, which he always did. Frank, on the other hand, never slept. Yes, he slept, but maybe a couple hours a week. He was fatigued and frail, with dreadful thoughts and boisterousness. Gerard crawls his delicate fingers along the side of Frank’s captivated arms, skipping over where the rope repeats wrapping around the anemic individual. Gerard is attempting to ease the truth and answer out of a locked-up Frank, while being a tiny bit seductive, for no reason. Oh, right, there’s always a reason for everything. Gerard lowers his hand to his side, a tornado of mixed emotions swelling and twisting inside of his stomach; confusion; straightforwardness; grief; slight retaliation, and fervor of knowledge. Frank is staying solemn and anodyne, staying strong for the urge to force Gerard’s ornery fingers off his precious flesh._  
 _“Good morning,” Gerard clearly states, stepping away from his beloved, yet terror-stricken, colleague. Frank eyes the ominous figure balance onto the wall left of Frank’s, gazing him straight in the eyes, portentously. Gerard doesn’t even look at Frank; he only stares at the door, for any source of movement or sound. For any source of living object apply force onto the door, as to maybe knock it down or enter it. After ten lengthy seconds of observing the boring door, he scans Frank back, although Frank can see Gerard peeking out of the corner of his eye to look at the door. Frank understands; he had been acting pretty mysterious and discreet the past weeks. The only logical thing for Gerard to be feeling is a sense of eagerness; and revenge and regret and pretty much every depressing feeling on the planet as a cause of Frank’s heartbreak. Wait, the heartbreak was triggering back in Gerard’s mind. He was transforming back into the old, not drunk Gerard. Sadly, if he knew he was transforming back, or if he knew he was even drunk at all, he would tell Frank, but he didn’t know. The whole world was set into a hazy glaze, so he couldn’t see much. It looked as if someone had just poured water into his eyes; there were reflections, but no actual clear sense of vision seen. Gerard blinks them away, accidentally triggering back the drunk Gerard. In a matter of minutes, the regular Gerard would transform, or just transform into his self before._  
 _“Good afternoon, Gee,” Frank corrects, eyeing the door too. It would break down any second, wouldn’t it? Wouldn’t Frank’s plan work out perfectly? Since when in his life has anything gone right? With the exception of Jamia. Gerard sheds a soft grin, and then hides it, trying to not show happiness. He hadn’t felt happiness in a long while, and he wouldn’t start now. He wants to feel pain, and agony. He wants to feel ache and regret. He wants to feel massive revenge that the only cure to murder someone, particularly someone he felt the revenge towards. But he didn’t feel that anymore. All he felt was eagerness and confusion- and slight blindness. He wants the old Gerard back, but he is fading away and he can’t bring him back. Old Gerard will become a memory and he will never see him again, and luckily, neither will anybody else; unless he drank again._  
 _As soon as that pessimistic thought crosses his mind, hammering of fists strike against the friable door. In seconds, the door slams down, dust and wood pollution filling the air and blinding the three figures in the large chamber. He- he came. Frank gasped as he saw his brave face cough and fight through the smoke to Frank’s area. He scratches his dirt-covered face, rubbing it off his face. None of which is appealing to Frank, but he is saved. Finally. From two months in a small room, that seemed small anyways, with nobody that had found him yet. No one even searched for Frank and Gerard. Nobody could care for them besides each other, which neither of them did. It was a miracle Frank didn’t die from starvation or hydration. His dim hazel eyes stare into Frank’s, as he unravels the rope around Frank’s arms and torso. Frank reaches his arms and body completely out of the trap, and starts to flee towards the door, in hopes of escape. As Mikey and Frank reach the possibly exit, they turn back to Gerard, looking for hopeful pain, but all they see is a Normal Gerard, still balancing on the wall, staring back at his two mendacious comrades about to leave his valued possession. Frank and Mikey don’t feel guilt of leaving Gerard with nothing, or even pain or agony or a slight bit of confusion. All they feel is a sense of determination. After that two long phone call of planning, that’s all the both of them felt. Anyways, Gerard had transformed back. Nobody knows it yet, but the transformation was completely successful. He is back to the Normal Gerard everybody loved, but some people still hates him. You could see the empathy drain from Mikey’s eyes, but Frank is still pretty empathetic. They cock they dull heads back to the door, ready to leave and abandon a broken Gerard. Well, now broken. Just seeing Frank, a man he hadn't seen in a while. Well, technically he had seen them, but not with his regular self. He only saw Frank through a different person's eyes. He wasn't himself then, now he was. And he feels sympathy for what he put Frank through. All the pain, starvation, deprivation, and all the other things he forgot he'd done to pitiable, harmless little Frank. He wants to let Frank know; he wants to let Frank know he’s all right now. He isn’t crazy and insane anymore. He can care for Frank, as he had wanted to the whole eight months Normal Gerard hadn’t seen his face; his beautiful, beautiful face. But he can’t. He just can’t, he’s not listening to Gerard, all he is thinking about is leaving his place and psycho maniac. Or so Gerard thinks. Mikey clicks on a contact on his phone, raising it to his ear as it rings._

 _“Yeah, Lindsey, I found Gerard with…” Mikey announces, filling Gerard with guilt and remorse. Mikey and Frank run down the hallway, hoping for Gerard to not be following them and chasing them. All Gerard was doing was sinking into a dining room chair, reticently, shyly and culpable. Nobody knew how much Gerard felt bad for what he’d done, nobody asks for Gerard’s opinion. Lindsey would soon divorce Gerard with the amount of shit Mikey is speaking to him. His life would collapse, just because of one little slipup in a bar, with Frank. Why was Frank even in that bar? Why was Gerard even in that bar? Gerard could hear the rushed footsteps from outside of Frank and Mikey. They sounded as if they were going somewhere, as if it was somewhere important. Maybe they weren’t but that didn’t matter. Gerard, yes, he hated Mikey and he hated Frank, but the person he hated more than anything was himself. He played the ‘What if?’ game. What if Mikey didn’t come? What if Mikey came later, after Gerard transformed? What if Gerard hadn’t even went to that bar? Millions of other questions could’ve been added, but Gerard had transferred his train of thought to what he felt. Gerard, he didn’t feel anything. The guilt and everything wore off. Now, he was feeling a one_ wrong _feeling, and one feeling only. And that would be revenge._

_…_

**_Revenge |ri’venj| noun_ **

**_The desire to inflict such retribution._ **

_…To be continued._


	2. 1: Check Into The Hotel Bella Muerte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘The quote “you always hurt the one you love” is quietly belittled.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I made a few mistakes in here, but I needed to post this. I couldn't resist. And the supposedly 'first chapter' was actually the prologue and if you look back. And don't even read this if you haven't read the prologue. You will be confused as fuck, so just read it. I'm hoping it won't take too long. So, please drop some comments. Con-crit always welcome! I will always answer your comment or suggestion. Okay, now read on, and yeah. Bye!

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**Welcome to: The Breaking Point**

**_1: Check Into The Hotel Bella Muerte_ **

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Gee saunters on the dim-lighted foyer, overlooking the bothersome conversations passed between people’s mouths, as he speeds to his assigned room.  He carries his luggage in his weak hand; he’d been carrying it for an hour. He’s been trying to find a hotel, any hotel, for hours on end. They were either too full, not full enough, health violations, or they were just simply closed. His facial expressions are earnest, endeavoring to only focus his watch on his hotel room number, although he had more than just that on his brain right now. His murky black hair covers his right eye as he continues to insouciantly, and miserably, attempt to reach his door to his room. As he turns a corner, he stares upon a very familiar figure and back of head. His haircut is incredibly similar to someone in the back on his mind, but he didn’t think of it enough to stop and stare at him – he needs to get to his room as fast as he could before someone, someone in particular, sees him and starts to run and speak to him. Gee turns to his head to a figure, a recognizable figure. He is wearing a black tee shirt, from the back that is all Gee can see, blue jeans, and some tennis shoes. He looks phlegmatic and composed, making Gee jealous of his reactions to his. He feels everything but what the mystery man is thinking, although Gee has a very correct and thought-out estimate on the person. His hair changed from the last time Gee saw him, not drastically, but somewhat altered. It looks like both of the sides of his hair grew back; he’d heard that he cut off both sides of his hair to form a straightforward mohawk. Now, he looked regular, because he’s grown it back. Gee hadn’t seen him in a few long months, and he hates to finally see him again. The whole reason Gee is here is to escape him. Where else could he go to escape this following figure? He’s tried everything he could, or at least what he thought he could. Gee turns his head away, trying to stick in his head that that wasn’t him, even though it was. The man doesn’t stare at Gee, although he does feel the uncomfortable feeling that someone was staring at him: he didn’t want to know who it was, because maybe he already did know who it was. He always had a special talent for determining who was looking at him, or what would happen. He leans against the pole in the middle of the room, kicking up one of his feet against it to balance him. As he continues his useless conversations about comic books with some of his friends, he can’t help but imagine who was staring at him – he knew somebody was. He knows somebody was looking at him, as wishing for permission to start a conversation with him. Still half-listening to the monotonous conversation, he looked out of the corner of his left eye to maybe see who was looking at him, or if he is still there. When he sees a shadowy figure looking at him ominously, he starts to act alarmed. By that time, he has drained from the conversation entirely, and turns his entire head to his left side, to catch a full glance of the figure, but Gee had left, leaving him awestruck, interrogative at what he saw and sensed. His friends attempt to comfort him, but nobody can. He knew who saw after thinking about it for a while. Gee was here, maybe it was a sign. But it wasn’t a sign, just a plain coincidence. It was, wasn’t it?

When Gee passes three rooms, attempting to forget about whom he just about hunted, he discovers his room, peevishly unlocking it with his room key, and arrives in his the room. The lights are dim, so he slides it up, and rests his heavy luggage onto the study chair. He closes his door, and leans his back against it, sliding to the floor, thinking of the atrocious thoughts that are crossing the man’s mind right now. He probably saw his face, and he was probably aghast. Gee couldn’t help but relate with him, because he disgusted himself at the things he’d done beforehand. He just wants to forget all of it – he wants to pretend like it never happened, although he knows it still happened. Gee can picture the horrendous sight even then, as well as every other day for the past thirty extensive days. He’d had to dream, think, and whenever he possibly closed his eyes; he would flashback to a day Gee didn’t want to remember. He had caused it, but he didn’t want to remember it at all. He wants to forget every big element that happened to the very insignificant specifics – he wants to be wiped clean of his entire memory, although he was going to anyways, but now he is devoted more than ever. He releases from his sore thinking position on the floor, and walks to where the placed his luggage, and transfers it to the bed, sitting next to the luggage on the bed. He unzips the obscure faux-leather luggage bag, throwing all the excess stuff in the bag to the side – he had only one thing in mind that he is searching for. He tosses his hair dryer, his shirts, his jeans, and the excess messy piles of clothes onto the floor along with his hair dryer, and everything else in his bag, except for the one thing he is looking for, onto the floor or thrown carelessly onto the study desk, such as his shoes, and other useless shit. Once he empties out his entire bag, despite the few items he was digging for, he tosses his head to the side, right to left then left to right to determine nobody was looking at him, as he abundantly drains out his bag. As he comes face-to-face with the alcoholic beverage, he sets it playfully on the table. Again, he checks to make sure the man isn’t stalking him also. He would kill Gee for what he was about to do.

Gee starts to flashback on all of the dreadful images and sentences that had happened in the past two or three months. _You need to make this disappear. You need to do this: you need to. This is your only solution, Gee, and you know it._ He pops open the glass container, repeating the satisfactory thoughts sail through his head. He doesn’t realize the outcome of his future actions, but all he does know is that that bottle will give him what he needs: a unflawed, sharp mind, that’s what he’s wanted for a long time. He’d sneak off to bars, without Lindsey’s approval of course. Lindsey had been trying to help him; he would always make the same mendacious promise, every time. He knows what he needs to do; it will only bring his pleasure, just pleasure. Nothing less, according to Gee anyways. ‘I’ll get better.’ Did he? No. _A perfect, clear mind, Gee. You know how much you’ve wanted this. You need it to be happy. It will work this time, if you keep telling yourself. Just fucking do it, Gee!_ _You know you need this._ Gee thinks to himself, opening the bottle with more force than ever before. He needs the alcohol to be himself again, but honestly, he needs the alcohol to stop being him. He doesn’t want to be himself. He wants to be the mannequin Gee he’s been asking for his entire life, and the drinks change him into a brutal, aggressive man. He’s been asking for that image for a couple years now. He asks for the image, and whatever makes Gee happy makes everybody happy, right? He suspects that anyways, all the time actually. Once the bottle is finally open, Gee can finally see the amber liquid through the clear glass when he sticks his eye on the hole to see. He is quite curious this evening.

Once he had had enough of waiting, he pours the entire bottle to his mouth. The alcohol scorches his intestines, causing his to scream slightly in agony, but he knows he wants more. Even if he didn’t want more, he’d have more. He needs the liquor to feel self esteem and satisfactory, both of which Gee hadn’t felt since he was a youngling. The whiskey is practically irresistible to Gee, even if it causes him agony in the beginning. He knows what happiness and contentment he’ll feel once all this is over with. Once he is almost halfway done with the bottle, he releases his mouth from the magnet of a flask. The liquid is oozing from his mouth to the chin, and then faintly dripping on his shirt. He licks the spare liquid on the outer corner of his lip and his chin off, and then wipes it off his sleeve. Again, he checks his hotel room for any source of sounds. He does not want to be overheard, especially if that same man is next door to him. He could have been hearing everything he was doing. He was acting very aggressive and loud, so it wouldn’t be hard for him to hear him if he was next door.

Once he determines the coast is clear, he downs the rest of the scorching liquid down his throat uncertainly. He stops in between sips to contain the actual stinging and agony he feels by replacing it with pep talks, a lot of sniffling involved with the beer, with him much like the reminders he sent through his head to his conscience. He throws the empty bottle on the other side of the room, recoiling at the sudden fracture. He is far from drunk, but he is stoned as much as he can be with one container of beer. After he winces at the breakage of his glass flask, the whole room slips to darkness. Dimness overcomes Gee’s entire eight until he emerges on the ground cogently, alarming the person under his hotel room. In minutes, Ray appears in the doorway, allowing himself in, panicked and concerned. Once he sees an unconscious Gee on the floor, Ray starts to trouble. He kneels next to him as he starts to break into an uncomfortable sweat.

“Oh shit. He died!” Ray overreacts, trying to give him CPR, but secretly, Ray can’t give precise CPR. After awkwardly clamoring on Gee’s stomach for ten minutes straight, the uncomfortable pressings on Gee’s stomach awoke him up, scaring an on-the-verge-of-tears Ray. Gee winced at Ray, because he hadn’t seen him in a year or two, in fact. After that callous fight between him and Frank that night, Ray practically had vanished from their lives and existence. But Gee didn’t care where Ray had been, just the luck that one of his good friends heard him fall, and came to help him, was satisfactory enough. But despondently, he still remembers whomever he saw in the lobby, and the past year, or two. He didn’t care enough, or forced enough to care, to remember how many years ago it was. But he knew how long it was, clandestinely. It was one year and eight months since he’d seen Frank, except for in the lobby. He doesn’t want to remember Frank either, but his gorgeous face must be inscribed in Gee’s brain because he can never seem to empty out the image, as many bottles of whiskey he clears. Gee raises his hand, as Ray flinches, considering himself a lifesaver. Ray helps him sit up, but Gee’s eyes are still hazy. He wants more – he needs more. He glances at Ray’s dark, illuminating black eyes, asking for permission for another bottle. Ray shakes his head, helping him stand up and walk him to the couch, resting his head and feet on a pillow. As Gee starts to relax, a heroic Ray is replaced with an uneasy Ray, the type who asks what happened, and anything of the sort. Ray bends over Gee, balancing on his knees, leaning over Gee’s sweat-infested head. He looks perturbed; as if he is mad at Ray, but Ray never did anything expect attempt desertion.

“Ray! Ray, baby, _honey_! What are you doing here?” Gee asks, as polite as he can be. Gee isn’t infuriated, for one, but he is just so outraged at himself, it reflects on Ray’s nice acts. As Ray entitles a confused look on his face, still trying to help an obviously struggling Gee. He doesn’t know what happened, but he just wants to help. Innocent little Ray shouldn’t be brought into this situation, but Gee doesn’t realize, nor care. All he needs, and wants, if someone to fall back on. Is that too much to ask?

“Um, you fell. I heard _thud_. I came up to check on you. Boom, here I am,” Ray mockingly ripostes, leaning on his hand with his elbow nicely propped up on a couch cushion. Gee grins at Ray’s amusing comment, still wrathful at himself that he didn’t reach for his second bottle when he had the chance. He needed that bottle, to be him, but all he was when he was drunk was be someone he wasn’t, but Gee doesn’t see that. He enjoys the countless bottles of alcohol fill his system, he loves the nourishing and sweltering sensation that someone had lit a match and throw it into his lungs – that feeling is what he longed for every time he picked up that glass. That feeling, that might have bruised and exchanged the regular Gerard, was what Gee had been after for a while now. He needs the alcohol to be him, and it was inevitable that Gee would allow someone to tell him what he needs to continue, and what he needs to stop.  He doesn’t care if drinking too much isn’t healthy or whatever. The alcoholic beverage, they vary, was all Gee likes and wants. It gives him the one, true, horrible thing Gee needs in his life, besides love. He doesn’t realize, but he needs true love also. Freedom.

“Oh. You live here too?” Gee asks, trying to not sound inebriated, as much as he is. Well, again, as drunk as he can get from one full bottle of resilient whiskey. It hit him pretty hard, comparing to the last time he had some, which had to at least be a couple days ago. It’s hard to sneak whiskey into his bedroom without Lindsey finding it. She checks the garbage everyday for any source of crushed glass, or stable glass, flasks of downed alcoholic drinks. She absolutely disgusts alcohol in the house, although she covertly, for Gee’s sake, goes out for a beer once or twice a month. Gee raises his head from the pillow to fully see Ray’s exhausted face. He looks like he hadn’t slept in hours – or even days.

“I’m staying here for a couple nights. Why are you here?” Ray answers happily, staring into Gee’s cold, heartless eyes. They look slightly expatiated, slightly scaring Ray with the sudden act of looking into his soul. Gee looked horrible; his head was bleeding, near his eyebrow, from the fall, and he looked as if he had fallen down a flight of stairs. Ray, being the doubtful person he is, he refuses he wipe the bloodstain, slightly drenched in his eyebrow, on his forehead, hoping to not upset Gee. Gee looks pretty seethed already, and Ray didn’t want to risk being screamed at by a drunken Gee, the worst kind, so Ray kind of just withers his head back in disappointment of himself; he wants to help Gee, without upsetting him. That was a very, very hard task to complete.

“To escape the dark treacherous land I like to call Lindsey’s and my home. I can’t stand to see her cry when I,” Gee pauses, refusing to say anything in that category of language. He didn’t like to speak of his “addiction” or at least not to Ray. “Never-mind that. Lindsey just doesn’t see what I see, and I want to take a break from her, and us, for a couple days, so I decided to escape to here.” Gee points with both of his arms to the hotel room, resembling the entire hotel. As much as Ray wants to ask why Gee needs to escape Lindsey, he becomes easily distracted by the Gee’s other comment:

“But, Ray, can you help me with something? Something _really_ important,” Gee retorts, attempting to not break eye contact with a fretted Ray. Ray’s head perks up as if it was what he was waiting for Gee to ask him, for him to actually be helpful which he never was before. Ray beams, trying to be as accommodating as he can be. Gee continues to stare upon the door, again just like the last time, for maybe any movement. Honestly, Gee would accept help from anyone besides Ray. Ray wasn’t usually considered the “helpful one” in situations, much like this one.

“Yes,” Ray responds, full of both enthusiasm and interest. Gee’s eyes widen at Ray’s sudden interest, or his notice in Ray’s interest. He never really pays attention to Ray’s reactions, because most of Ray’s reactions are of boredom and monotony. Since he finally cares about Gee and him himself, Gee is just mesmerized with Ray. He’s the only one that has actually said “Yes” when he asked that question to Lindsey. Lindsey would ignore the question completely, or answer his question with a stubborn follow-up question.

“What do I do? Frank is here, and I want to talk to him, but I know he doesn’t want to talk to me! I want to start a conversation but how do I do that without him running away in panic? The last time I saw him I was a fucking monster! He’d never forgive me!” Gee cries, throwing the entire weight of his head on the couch. He sighs heavily as if indicating to Ray to give him an answer, and a good one at that. He needs help, and fast one at that.

“Just talk to him,” Ray calms Gee, rubbing his shoulder in a soothing manner, but Gee is not mollified. He is frantic, in fact. He wants answers and he wants them fast. He needs _good_ answers. He wants to speak with Frank, despite an awkward conversation of hello’s and how are you doing’s. He wants a real, genuine conversation with Frankie. He wants it to be real, and no panic or horror involved, just prompt and unaffected.

“ _No_! Ray. It’s not that simple! I’ve done… bad things to him he shouldn’t forgive me for! I need to speak with him _today_ , Ray! Just, how do I do that?” Gee calls, sitting up. Ray has absolutely no idea, again, regaining his unaccommodating reputation.  Just before Ray can respond to Gee’s intricate problem, the doorbell rings, signaling a distraction to both Gee and Ray, permitting him to delay his answer short. _Perfect timing_ , thinks a bothered and obdurate Ray. Gee assembles up, attempting to collect himself, to open the door. When he holds the doorknob, he can already sense that someone irritable is on the other side of the door. He knows someone, someone he can’t stand or handle to think about, is just outside the door. They seem, eager. Gee opens the door to find no other than Frankie Iero. Frankie _Iero_. The enervated man that Drunken Gerard kept hostage just a few months ago. Gee usually predicts, or pleads, that he has forgotten, but that hadn’t happened. No, not one single bit. The atrocious reflections that Frankie wishes to trash claws itself from the advantageous trash bin in the back of his brain every time to the front, when it becomes so severe that every time Frankie closes his eyes, he can almost imagine being raped by great, burly Drunken Gerard again.

“Hey! It’s just… _Gerard_? What are _you_ doing here? I though this was Mikey’s room?” Frankie asks, peeking inside the room yet to realize this wasn’t the room he was looking for originally. What had he got himself into? Gee’s mouth drops at the transformation of Frankie, although he had seen it once back in the lobby. His shirt is a My Chemical Romance shirt, the band both of them were in before they took a hiatus. Gee didn’t like to think of the band so he turned his head toward his jeans and shoes. He wears ripped, that looks bloodstained for some reason, black jeans. He looks spontaneous, and normal, much unlike Gee. He sports a basic white shirt, enigmatically cut on the collarbone, with black sweatpants, while also wearing a confused and pleased look on his face. He, alone, is dumbfounded he had finally seen Frankie Iero again with Frankie feeling the exact opposite, much wanting to never see Gee again. Gee’s face brings Frankie back to the horrible memories he shares with Gee, making him refuse to look at his face. The sudden meeting him – and having to communicate with him – is too much for little Frankie to handle; he needs to rest. He needs to sleep this off, but he knows he must carry out a full conversation with Gee to guarantee him no worries, or no more worries. His life formed into a living hell after Mikey helped Frankie escape.

“No, it’s mine. Wait, Mikey’s here _too_? Sick. Ray’s in here too.” Gee points at a casual-looking Ray, who has positioned himself into the couch Gee was just in. Gee smiles at Ray, of course, startling him. Gee hasn’t smiled that big in years, so obviously the alcohol hadn’t worn off yet – and the perfect timing that Frankie decides to visit. Inside, deep inside, Gee knows that he will screw up their conversation, their first conversation in a few months, from his alcohol just like the last time they’d seen each other. Frankie’s face adapts into a horrified look, as if he had discovered something he wouldn’t like to know. Gee slants his head onto his right shoulder in perplexity. Frankie squints at Gee, attempting to maybe figure out something.

“Gee… Are you stoned?” Frank questions, examining closer on Gee, sensing something of the sort. He knows Gee isn’t the same, and he also knows he doesn’t want to be in a conversation with, yet another, Drunken Gerard with all the possibilities of mistakes that could occur. Frankie wants to turn his head to the ground; his gaze along with him, assuming maybe Gee would gain the knowledge that Frank doesn’t want to speak with him, let alone lay eyes on him, but Frankie can’t do that. His heart is too vast to do such a heartless and foul thing to someone who he knows cares so much about him. To fix his problem, Frankie fixes his eyes on Gee’s neck, which looks incredibly bruised and is bleeding, but Frankie refuses to ask for a question, because he probably already knows what happened: he probably fell and hit his neck, as tied in with his ‘stoned’ inquiry.

“Fucking nope! I’m f-f-fine I say!” Drunken Gerard yelps, raising his arm, extending his middle finger into the air then changing it slowly to his index, and then lowering it with a yawn and a stretch involved. Frankie starts to panic, but tries to ignore the mammoth part of his brain and heart that still care for Gee, but they don’t care for Drunken Gerard at all. He wants to regain to Gee back, microscopically, but he doesn’t want to be an obstacle in Drunken Gerard’s plan. He wants to be a far away from Drunken Gerard as he can, even if the furthest is six feet.

“No you’re not! You’re drunk, Gee!” Frank screams, accidentally jumping back an inch, scared from Gee and his possible actions or _re_ actions. But all Gee does is step back onto his left foot which makes an unexpected smack behind him, maybe four inches behind him, causing him to almost lose balance. He moves his foot next to his right, spreading them out a bit, while still looking at Frankie’s gorgeous brown eyes. He never realized that his eyes illuminated in the light, as if they turn to a honey color. Gee loves Frankie’s eyes, because Gee has never looked in Frankie’s before, well he has but not so deeply. Now, he is searching for any protected secrets Frankie is keeping, as where is brother is. That’s his main preference, but any answer on the topic of his brother would be helpful.

“No I’m not. Anyways, what are you doing here, Frankie?” Gee asks, rubbing Frankie’s shoulder, as if trying to clear all of Frankie’s ghastly thoughts with prodigious ones. He wants Frankie to be his, and he doesn’t want a bad slip of a memory to screw up their once-perfect relationship. He wants to gain back all of Frankie’s love and trust, but maybe Frankie had thrown it all away a few months ago. He knows that Frankie and Mikey probably had some secret pact he never knew about, and that was kept explicitly from him. He had been acting foul to Frankie and Mikey the last time he had seen either of them, so they might as well hate him, which both of them do. But all Frankie wants is an apology, but Mikey wants the universe, and even more to be pleased. He was raised stubborn and has grown up to be stubborn, and he’d stay that way. Frankie moves his shoulder from Gee’s reach, so fast as if it were in terror and disgust.

“Don’t you dare touch me!” Frankie cries, deliberately jumping away from Gee’s reach, hurting his feelings a tad. Gee tears his hand away from Frankie as if it were light on fire, or if Frankie was lit on fire. Gee’s facial expressions show repugnance and confusion, as if it had never felt that before. Gee mutters something Frankie can’t hear, but it was rather rude and offensive. Frankie sighs and leans his elbow on the doorway, trying to find something to do to not look awkward, as much as he already is. Gee coughs inaudibly, making him look exceedingly strange.

“Then what am I _supposed_ to do?” Gee inquires, meeting Frankie’s hand with his. Frankie blushes for a minute or so, falling for Gee for a second, then pulls away in aversion and hatred. Gee, again, jumps back in concern and bewilderment.

“Clean your face, and your _act_. Don’t you dare come back here until you do,” Frankie orders, as Gee obediently ambles to the bathroom, seizes the soap, polishes it gently over the mark on his neck, and splashes water on his entire neck, mimicking the same to his face. Just as Gee is doing so, he stares at himself in the mirror, but that _isn’t_ himself, in fact, it’s someone completely different. His eyelids and his eyes are red and swollen, under them are bags, there is blood placed left and right of his lips almost in the shape of a Chelsea grin resemblance, and his bottom lip is so incredibly chapped and worn-out it looks like it can fall off. Gee’s face turns from a solemn look, to a studying look to a riled look – as if his reflection dismayed him or something. He doesn’t look like Gerard anymore – loving, caring, compassionate Gerard. Now, he’s egotistic, fervent, and doesn’t-think-twice Gee, someone he’s always wanted to be. Sadly, in the process to be Gee, he must drink and drink and _drink_ until he can’t feel anything anymore. The feeling itself is hard to describe, but all it is is adequate. It feels right, to Gee anyways. After a couple minutes of exchanging words to the mirrored Gee and real Gee, he becomes annoyed with his reflection to start screaming sentences at it: “Why? Why me? Why do I deserve this? Am I special? Is this revenge for something I’d done? Just please. A sign, a shape, a movement, a sound, a person, a thing… _any_ thing! Why do I deserve this hell of a life? I’m sorry. Here, I’m really sorry. I’m… really sorry, all right? I’m… _sorry_!” Gee shrieks, punching the mirror until it fades to a bare wall. The broken pieces of glass are disseminated around the entire vanity, and Gee’s knuckles are still throbbing. At that, Frankie runs into the bathroom, to see an even more emotionally severe Gee rolling on the floor, clenching his knees to his chest. Frankie gasps at the display of glass on the vanity and the floor, along with the blood dispersed everywhere.

“Gee? What happened? Are you all right?” Frankie asks, kneeling next to Gee. Gee nods as Frankie helps him stand up and balance on his feet. Gee loves that Frankie is helping him by placing his hands on Gee’s waist to stabilize him, but him and both Gee know that that is just an abundant positive to the situation. In reality, Gee is fine, but he loves being held by Frankie in that way, or being held by Frankie at all. Frankie kisses Gee’s neck, of course to only heal the wound on his neck, as Gee beams. He loves the sudden attention from Frankie: he loves _him_. But what is Frankie thinking? Any bad thing could happen with giving Gee all this lovey-dovey attention – it could turn into something worse or sinisterly worse, but he can’t resist Gee. All Gee can squeak out is “Can I a-ask you a question?” and of course, Frankie bobs his head. Frankie leans Gee’s head onto his shoulder, again, for soothing reasons only.

“What ever happened to our band… um, My Chemical Romance?” Gee sniffles, burying his entire face into Frankie’s hair. Frankie giggles, and then nods again. Gee was right – what had happened to their band? They hadn’t recorded an album in two years, and their fans are getting irritable. Frankie, Gee, Ray and Mikey all want to make music, and they all want to be in the band, and maybe some people didn’t want to be in the band with some other people in the band, but it would all work out, right? Was it even called a ‘hiatus’ if they forgot about the band completely? Frankie’s face lights up entirely, releasing Gee from his side, but he whimpers to be back on his shoulder, snuggled in his hair. He loved Frankie’s scent: cologne, aftershave and cigarettes.

“The band! Yes, the band! I forgot. Hey, we should get it back together! Ray is here, and so is Mikey! Everything is perfect!” Frankie exclaims, surely, but Gee is uncertain of all things. Gee scratches the back of his head, which Frankie has missed so much. He wasn’t supposed to feel that way, but he did. Gee looks helpless, and it just had to be fate or something that he knocked on Gee’s door on his time of need. Fate, that’s what Frankie called it, but to Gee just a mere consequence. He wants to forget Frankie even happened, but he wants to talk to Frankie more. He doesn’t want to hate him – hell, Frankie should hate Gee, but he doesn’t. How come?

“I don’t know Frankie,” Gee whispers, inaudible almost, but Frankie doesn’t want to hear it. He is now standing, hovering over Gee, who is sitting on the restroom flooring. Gee stands up with help from the handle on the vanity and Frankie, who is very ecstatic. Frankie yanks Gee upwards, making his stand up, tipsy at that. Frankie grips both of Gee’s sweaty hands and pulls them to his own chest in excitement.

“C’mon, Gee! It’ll be fun!” Frankie, practically, begs until Gee finally gives a submissive nod, making Frankie cry of joy. Frankie jumps, still grasping Gee’s hands, while Gee just leans onto the vanity drawers, exhausted. He takes a few long breaths, while Frankie tracks down Ray to go inform him. Gee can’t stop thinking of _what have I done?_ He knows he made the right decision, but in his condition unquestionably, not really. Once Frankie returns back, he hugs Gee and Gee hugs back gently. Ray is behind Frankie is a big smile on his face. Frankie lifts Gee off the ground, as Gee wraps his arms around Frankie’s neck. Frankie places his down, as Ray starts to become suspicious that maybe their relationship hadn’t ended before – did it really?

“But how will I tell Mikey? He hates me!” Gee frowns, but Frankie just beams brighter as if he already knows the answer – as if he had thought about it before.

“I’ll handle it, Gee,” Frankie subsides, as he kisses Gee’s sweaty forehead. Gee’s cheeks flush to a deep red color of pure pleasure of being with Frankie, with nobody to break them apart or help him escape from him. _Frankie loves me again_ believes Gee, beaming while kissing Frankie’s cheek. _Frankie trusts me again_. _Finally, a picture of me doesn’t bring back a bad image to him_. _Freedom, I’m free from the chains of my horrible past_. _Finally_.


	3. 2: You're Running Out Of Places To Hide From Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Love makes you do some crazy things.'

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**_2: You’re Running Out Of Places To Hide From Me_ **

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                  “ _Mikey_!” An energetic, and jubilant Frankie yells as he bombards his door open. Mikey is lying on the couch in his living room, watching some television. Mikey winces at Frankie’s flamboyant voice, as if he is trying to have some quiet time despite the television, that he had reduced the volume down to ‘zero’ for understandable reasons. Sure, Mikey looked stable and ordinary on the outside, but in the interior, he was a fucking mess that no one deserved to be a part in. Apart from Gee, he is having his own problems: his divorce with Alison, his parents kicking him out of their house when he refused to pay their ‘mortgage’, and forced to stay in a shitty hotel building trying to escape the terrifying figure that haunts him every night in his dreams: his brother. Yes, his brother is his worst fear, is that wrong? (Maybe a little.) Mikey turns his head indignantly Frankie’s direction, who has already made his way to Mikey’s couch, as he convenes next to Mikey. Mikey groans as he tosses his head at Frankie’s new position, which is now jumping on the couch and shuddering the entire chesterfield. He rolls his fatigued eyes at Frankie.

                  “What, excited one?” Mikey slurs, setting his feet and legs in Frankie’s lap, who feels majorly uncomfortable, but anything to get Mikey to stay and to listen to him, Frankie would do. Frankie secures his feet into the _crisscross applesauce_ position that he learned in kindergarten. Mikey rolls his eyes _again_ at a childish Frankie, who has started to jump up and down out of happiness and liveliness. Frankie stops jumping, cracks his knuckles, showing Mikey that he must prepare adequately and boldly to describe his hugely important statement, or maybe it’s a question.

                  “Gerard’s here!” Frankie shrieks, causing Mikey to cover his ears. Mikey doesn’t release his hands from his ears until he’s digested all the horrendous information. _Gerard_? No, he can’t be. That would be his worst nightmare become reality for God’s sake. But Frankie, he looked so happy. He looks happy that, that cruel beast has returned. Why is he happy? Shouldn’t he be concerned for his life? He did try to kill him, well; he tried to starve his to death. Shouldn’t he be running from his life, and not talking about his ostentatiously? Frankie should be crying in a fucking corner, terrified that Drunken Gerard will return and do exactly what he did last time, but he’s not. Frankie is beyond happy; he is _ecstatic_. He loves that his beloved Gee has returned, and he wants Mikey to feel the same feeling. He wants Mikey to look through his eyes, and past what happened two months ago, almost anyways. (Frankie actually cared to remember.) Why should Mikey break Frankie’s happiness? Oh, right, because he’s still emotionless Mikey that Gerard said he “loved”. He still keeps that phone conversation in the back of his cramped head. That call is too much to think of right now; all he needs to think of is how to avoid Gee without little Frankie here telling him lies.

                  “What? No, he isn’t, is he? How can we avoid him, together? _Frankie_. This… this is horrible. We need to move out of here tonight!” Mikey plans, rubbing his eyebrows with his index finger and his thumb. This is too much to think of right now.

                  “No! Mikey, _no_! Why would you do that? He’s really nice and he’s changed…” Frankie’s face mocks a pouty face with a miserable look of frustration and disappointment towards Mikey. Mikey’s heart slightly warms at how sad Frankie looks to the actions he would have taken in his own hands to protect him, but he knows it would just hurt him more. Why did Frankie have to make this decision so hard? He’s an alcoholic: he’s _crazy_. They need to leave before anyone gets injured or captured, may I say. He’s just doing to defend Frankie, so why can’t he just see that? But all Frankie wants is Mikey’s approval to date Gee, as much as wants to think the thought, he knows he doesn’t need Mikey’s permission, but Gee does. Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe they are free to do what they want. Maybe they aren’t.

                  “ _Changed_? You have the fucking gut to tell me he’s changed? He locked you in a hotel room and deliberately seduced you, and you know it! I know you haven’t forgotten! He was probably still drunk when you arrived! He’s not fine, Frank. He doesn’t deserve you, after all the shit he gave you. Frank, you know he’s trouble but you don’t realize what you’re getting yourself into! You’re fucking blind, Frank!” Mikey screams, staggering Frankie, who starts to pout more. He is obviously not budging his opinion, and decision, and Mikey knows that. Frankie has got to be the most stubborn person on the face of the planet, and that’s what Mikey liked about him, but that’s also what he hated about him.

                  “Mikey, you have to remember, he _is_ your brother. As much as you hate him, he’s always going to be blood similar to you. Have you ever heard of a second chance, dude?” Frankie pleads, and that’s when Mikey lost it. He starts to scream random arrangements of letters and syllables as he stands up from Frankie’s unctuous touch and grip. He kicks the table, which falls to the ground and smashes into millions of glass pieces. Yeah, maybe Gee and him are similar a little bit. Frankie winces, but forces Mikey to sit back down, who is still shrieking words that are too stretched out to understand. Mikey starts to settle down, as Frankie rubs his spine and backbone area with his index finger and thumb.

                   “A… Second cha… Chance? He doesn’t de… Deserve a fucking second chance! He hurt y… You, Frankie! I can’t for… forgive him for what he di… Did!” Mikey stammers, as Frankie hands him some random glass of water off the side table next to the couch for him to drink out of. _Why is Mikey acting this way? He’s never acted so strange._ Frankie continues to rub Mikey’s back, still thinking that in the back of his mind he has to convince Mikey to join My Chemical Romance, again, and to handle sitting in a room with his brother for hours. Sadly, once they go on tour, Gee and Mikey will be forced to be close – closer than ever before.

                  “Mikey. I have learned to forgive and to forget; why can’t you?” Frankie asks, kneading his back harder with his thumb, attempting to cause discomfort, to make Mikey know he’s getting more and more irritated for his answer. Frankie had never acted this furious before. It might be Gee’s acts rubbing off on him, only God knows, but whatever it is, wouldn’t it be a curse more than a weakness the less and less he remembers to use it. Who knows? He could use his ‘powers’ for good or evil. It’s completely up to him; well, with Frankie, it’s up to Gee; his fucking _role model_. Whatever Gee happens to like, there’s Frankie standing flamboyantly, doing exactly what Gee said to do, and probably better. Again, Frankie was Gee’s puppet.

                  “Because! He hurt you! I saw it with my eyes! And why did you tell me this? Why does it _matter_? Isn’t he just some fucking monster trapped inside a human’s body to you? That’s exactly what he is! Frank, whenever he’s drunk, he’s a demon!” Mikey shrieks, vehemently lowering Frankie’s comforting hand to his lap. This isn’t looking good – now he is even madder than before. (If that’s possible.)

                  “ _Because_! Mikey, like I’ve said a million times, he’s changed for the better! He’s a new man with a new angle on life! And I’m telling you this because…” Frankie starts, biting his nails, debating the millions of phrases and words he could use to explain the ghastly following, and he’s waiting to delay another concerted-acting Mikey, who throws chairs and people along with it. (He could only throw people out. He actually has a heart despite the other Way brother.) Mikey grits his upper teeth against his lower teeth, indignantly.

                  “C’mon! I don’t have all day!” Mikey yells, getting quite loud and irritable to Frankie. All he wanted was a calm and fast conversation with Mikey, but he should’ve known better. For Heaven’s sakes, he was planning to fucking talk about a guy (his brother, might I remind you) that he has been complaining and yelling about for the past few months. He should’ve known that he would blow up like this – especially when he is enthusiastic and happy while doing so. Was Frankie lying when he agreed that he hated Gee too? (Well, he wasn’t, but he just changed it mind.) Were Frankie and Gee keeping contact while Mikey wasn’t there? Were they secretly hooking up, purposely? (Again, that is a tough and arduous question to answer, but the answer is easy. Frankie was in contact _or_ have hooked up with Gee in the few months. He completely stayed with Mikey the entire time, and he kept no secrets from Mikey about Gee. Well, _again_ , that question could be answered in millions of different approaches.)

                  “Because… because we need to get the band back together and I want you to be in it,” Frankie finishes, running his right hand through his longish black hair. All you can hear is silence; pure fucking silence. No, no lurid and irritating screaming from Mikey or tranquil explaining from Frankie, _nothing_. It was wonderful while it lasted.

                  “The _band_? You have the guts to ask me about the band right here and right now while I’m concerned and obsessing over Gerard and how to escape him, and now you want me to communicate with him? Possibly survive an entire writing session and _tour_ with the demon? I hate him and his purposely-greedy attitude, and he disgusts me. You know I despise this man, and why must you bring this dreadful situation up? No, no this will not happen. Never. I guess you must find another bass player because Michael Way is out of the band permanently and forever. Do you have that clear, Frank?” Mikey answers, pacing around the living room tiled flooring after he assembled up from his warm seat on the settee. His hand position is quite odd, in fact; his left hand is fixated 90 degrees to the right, as he props his right hand on the back of his left hand’s palm, adjusting his head in the slot he purposely made for his head. He is obviously in deep thought, or he just wants Frankie to think that. Frankie’s look on his face is easy to read; it’s full of sadness and despair, and the reason is obvious. Mikey had just shattered the one thing he’d wanted most at the moment. Mikey tore it down like a weak barricade against a tsunami. Mikey’s heart begins to melt at how pitiless and helpless Frankie looks, that he almost feels _bad_. (Holy shit. It’s a miracle.) Why does he want the band back together all of a sudden? He could’ve gone his entire life forgetting about it, as the rest of them succeeded to, so why didn’t he? Mikey stops pacing to just stare at Frankie, at the despair and pity in his face; to watch the happy and enthusiasm slowly drain from his rosy cheeks to ghostly white ones and his perky brown eyes that fade to black and emotionless orbs, that also happen to sprout some small clear tears that slowly fall down a side of Frankie’s face. He doesn’t even whimper of dejection; he doesn’t have any emotion to do it. His lips transform from a flamboyant pink color to a bland white line.

                  “Frank! Stop doing that! What I same is final and…” Mikey starts, but gets lost staring at Frankie’s face and reactions. Now he begins to whimper, now of pain and grief, of course just from the heart. _Why is he acting this way?_ The tormenting is working; Frankie again will get exactly what he’s wanted from begging or showing apathy. Frankie Iero, the con artist. Hum, that did have a nice ring to it. Maybe he could master into conning friends and strangers on the paved sidewalks outside the hotel building. He could build a team of con artists and roam the streets dauntingly, and everyone would be afraid of them. Okay, if the band didn’t work out, that would be his falling point.

                  “Frank! Stop staring at me like that… Okay fine! I’ll rejoin your little fucking band, as long as you stop staring at me like… that,” Mikey retorts, sitting back down next to Frankie. Frankie starts to jump again, shaking the couch annoyingly but Mikey doesn’t seem to care. _Frank is happy. This is great; wait. Fuck. I have to talk to…_ Mikey’s facial expressions change briefly as he retorts another statement, but at this point; Frankie couldn’t care less if it were a death wish or a marriage request.

                  “But one condition,” Mikey starts, waiting for Frankie to nod with agreement, which he does a few seconds after. “Gerard cannot look or speak to me unless I speak to him. And our conversations must only revolve around the band. Got it?” Mikey agrees, reaching his desiccated hands out for shaking. It takes at least thirty seconds of Frankie exchanges gazes from Mikey’s hand to his face, wondering what the hell he’s asking him to do, until he realizes he’s asking to shake his hand in covenant, which he does with a slight chuckle at his irresponsible behavior.

                  “Got it.” Frankie releases from Mikey’s tight grip, and smiles a coy smile at him, making him worry a slight bit, but he knows it must be part of some sort of “Frank” joke or something. He’s been really into those types of things lately. He’s been into… what is it called? Conning? Well, he loves to trick people into thinking something’s wrong when something isn’t and the list goes on of other senseless jokes only Frankie could adore. _But why would Frank smile with no teeth? He always smiles with teeth. Why is he acting so strange? Does he know something I don’t know? He’s probably seen Gerard. Who else would remind him of the band?_ Was Frankie hiding something from Mikey? Yes. Was it necessarily bad? No, well, yes, well… Just the fact that Gee is drinking again, and that he isn’t recovering one thin bit. It’s for the better, right? And Mikey will find out sooner or later, so why should Frankie spoil the ‘fun’? He’ll just wait a couple weeks; the band must get to work after their slim hiatus. They must regain all their lost fans, if they had any. Frankie knows this well as Gee and as well as Mikey and as well as Ray; they’re going to need new song lyrics and they are going to need it fast for their fleetingly demanding fans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess this chapter is very confusing and short, but I had to include it. I mean, I think you all needed to know how Mikey felt about Gerard being there, Frank's pathetic decision, and how much he cares about Frank. Enough to rejoin the one thing he's been avoiding for a while. Again, comments and con-crit is always welcome! Kudos are greatly appreciated! I would love to know your theories and 'such'! Goodbye.


	4. 3: From The Choice You Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Untold stories make you seem empty and untold yourself.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a chapter filler, just to basically have something. So is chapter 4. Chapter 5 and chapter 6 are real chapters, just saying. Thanks for all the reads out of nowhere! I have written up to chapter 6 at the moment, and I decided just now that when I finish one chapter, I'll post one chapter. But if I take a million years to write a chapter, I guess I'll just have to break my pattern. You gotta do what you gotta do. Comments are always welcome and very encouraged! So, thank you guys and uh, bye!

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**_3: From The Choice You Made_ **

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                  Mikey, Ray, Gee, and Frankie all lay in a circle in the center of Mikey’s living room, that’s still in the hotel. The broken table is still laid on the ground, untouched, making Gee and Ray very suspicious, but they don’t care enough to ask what it is. They only came to write lyrics for their new album, and not to engage in awkward colloquy with their fellow ‘associates’.  Gee adjusts in a comfortable position where his back is leaned against the couch – he’s sitting on the floor – with his shriveled hands secured softly behind his fatigued head, covered with assortments of black colors overcoming the entire top half of it. Frankie, seated right next to Gee, is laid in the exact same position, but instead of his head cocked against the couch, it is laid in Gee’s lap, as Gee strokes his hair. Mikey finds this sordid, but Frankie has never seemed happier.

                  “So, let’s get to work,” Mikey growls, crossing his legs as well as his arms over his emaciated chest. Gee rolls his brown eyes, as he shoves Frankie’s head off his head gently to position into a thinking position. Gee has many overwhelming thoughts for song lyrics, album covers and titles, and the story told through the album. Frankie pouts, emphasizing his need, but mostly want, to be in Gee’s lap once again, being stroked by his dehydrated hands; being clawed gently by Gee’s bitten fingernails. It felt invigorating, just refreshing. Gee usually had that impact on men: especially Frankie. Gee rubs the back of Frankie’s neck, quietly making his way down to the collar on Frankie’s shirt, and tugs on it playfully while biting his lip, smirking at Frankie. Frankie _knows_ that smirk; it must be his evil smirk. He smirked like that the last time he’s seen him. He was drunk again; he hadn’t recovered, and probably wouldn’t, but Frankie knows to wait. He knows to let Gee figure ‘this’ all out by himself. Who else would Gee listen to but himself, right? Isn’t his plan downright infallible?

                  “Gerard has a couple ideas,” Frankie bursts out, making Gee blush. Mikey turns his attention to Gee, so begins to unravel his notebook full of ideas, and his scrapbook of album cover philosophies. Mikey eyes the huge book with papers unevenly placed inside and crumpled papers sticking out; his brother was never concerned about organization. The notebook, with written opinions, is a dark blue, almost black, plastic cover also with a large white label that reads, “Gerard Way’s Ideas.” The most normal thing he could’ve applied to it. Gee opens the blue notebook to the second or third page labeled ‘My Chemical Romance’, but that’s all everyone saw until he pulls it away to his chest for only himself to read. He starts to read quietly, with all the eyes on him. His eyes gaze over his notebook, as he commences to read from it:

                  “I was thinking, that our second album could tell a story. And the one I had in mind was a sad one, for a reason I don’t know why. But the plot is that there is a man and a woman and they love each other very much. They are fiancées, and are deeply in love, until the woman is bitten and killed by a tough group of vampires. The man tries to live his life without her, but when he realizes he can’t, he kills himself to be with his wife. So, every song is a major part in the story. Ideas?” Gee begins, quietly, and once he finishes, everyone but Gee turn their head to Frankie. Even Frankie tries to look at himself. Everyone knows it is about the tough breakup from him and Frankie. Gee smiles, hoping for some virtuous feedback from his ‘contemporaries’. Mikey and Ray smile a false one at him, when they deeply love the idea, but just scared that Gee is thinking of ideas involving suicide _and_ homicide. It’s a little deep, but it’s exactly what they needed; their big comeback. This, this could be it. Frankie nods at Gee, smiling authentically at him, as Gee leers back. Gee reaches for his brown, paper scrapbook and flips a hundred or so pages until he reaches a page with random assortments of red and black splattered everywhere, but again, Gee pulls it to his chest.

                  “I dabbled in a couple ideas for album covers. The first one is the woman and the man, here you go.” Gee lays out the entire scrapbook on the floor, and one word to describe it would be ‘perfect’. All on the cover were the female and male, except for their white band logo principally spread at the top of the image, and except for the small red letters that read ‘Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge’, as if that’s the name of the album. But the lady and gentleman are the strange part, as how peculiar the title of the album is. The male is leaning into the female, as if to kiss, but they are both drenched in fine rubicund blood on their faces, that are unusually pale white. The man shows a great resemblance to Gee, as the woman… the woman looks like Frankie, but in womanly form. It couldn’t ever be a coincidence; someone doesn’t just draw people and it _happens_ to look like someone. The album was obviously based off of Gee and Frankie, and everyone knows it. Frankie gasps at the male and female, but Mikey as of Ray remain the same solemn looks. Frankie smiles a tad, looking into Gee’s eyes. Tears start in the corners, but he blinks them away without hesitation. _Why is Frank crying?_ Shouldn’t _he be happy?_

“Fine job, Gerard, but let me ask you this. Do the man and woman remind you of… any particular people in this room right now?” Ray inquiries, continuing to analyze the beautiful sketch. Gee shrugs, as the others nod in agreement. Once again, Gee is not able to admit what he’s done. Why is this so hard for Gee? Mikey forces a smile as he looks into Gee’s eyes, which he hasn’t done the entire time. Gee smiles back, but rubs his cheeks to create friction on his dry palms.

                  “We need to use this one, Gerard. This is excellent, and I think I speak for everyone when I say that I’m not interested to see the rest of your illustrations, because this one is so brilliant. Congratulations, Brother,” Mikey acknowledges, as he shakes Gee’s hand. Gee loves to feel that source of accomplishment, especially from his brother. He finally feels loved.

                  “Thank you, friends. I have a few song lyric and titles choices, but none of them are finished. I think the album should contain thirteen songs, because thirteen is my favorite number and a very reasonable number for an album,” Gee adds, setting his sketchbook down as grabbing his notebook again, flipping ten or so pages to find the lyrics. All everyone can see are the title of the work, ‘Helena’, that gives Mikey chills on the back of his spine until Gee tugs it, once again, to his torso for confidentiality and privacy.

                  “The first song, but that’s just an idea of course, could be called ‘Helena’ as the name of the woman, and it spoken in point of view of the man. Basically the whole album could be told in his point of view, again, just an idea. And it’s all about her funeral, or at least that’s how I envision it. The inspiration is from Mikey and I’s late grandmother, Elena. I’m sure you all have met Elena?” Gee asks, as the rest of the men nod in agreement. He leers and continues on. “Well, since she was so gorgeous, I decided to name the first song after her, and the woman, and resembled her personality in my character; caring, beautiful; loving. I’ve only written the chorus, and I can’t even think of any guitar or bass notes, or even the tune, but these lyrics just came to me one night, with the name Helena. Here goes nothing’: _And what’s the worst to take? From every heart you break? And like the blade you stain? Well, I’ve been holding on, tonight. What’s the worst that I could say? Things are better if I stay. So long and goodnight. So long not goodnight_ ,” Gee sings, with a harmony, as the rest of the men drop their jaws at the beautiful lyrics that _Gee_ came up with. Frankie, Ray, and Mikey all begin to clap their hands while Frankie yells some encouraging cheer. Gee blushes again, and thanks them.

                  “Dude, you have so many amazing ideas! If you keep it up, we could finish the album in two months, at least! C’mon, hit us with more ideas,” Mikey gasps; hitting his knee with his palm to the melody Gee was singing his chorus to. Gee leers at his brother, as he flips the page to another song.

                  “Okay, here’s one, that I’m hoping for it to be the second track on the album, but it’s unnamed at the moment. I’m thinking ‘Give ‘Em Hell, Kid’ but I don’t know. I have the entire song written, and the melody is planned perfectly, so I think I’ll start at the beginning and end it: _I took a train outta New Orleans and they shot me full of ephedrine. This is how we like to do it in the murder scene_ …” Gee responds, but he feels a voice overriding his, that makes him look up from his lyric book, to see Ray asking some sort of question, but he hasn’t listened long enough to hear the entire question, so Gee asks for him to repeat his enquiry.

                  “Oh, um, why did you use ‘murder scene’? Why does murder play such a huge part in this story?” Ray asks again, making Gee question his writing a little bit, but not a whole lot. He is very proud of his lyrics for their album, and he doesn’t need any advice from Ray, well he does, but that doesn’t mean he’ll change the lyric just because Ray is very questionable about it.

                  “I have no idea, really. Just, like I said, it came to me one day and I wrote it down, and surprisingly it rhymed. I like to think the ‘murder scene’ as where she got shot, New Orleans obviously. Like, the ‘murder scene’ is the crime scene, but maybe it could mean something more dangerous. It’s used in the story, because I wanted to story to have a strong meaning; I wanted the story to create an impact without being too outrageous. I want it to save lives. Now may I continue?” A bothered Gee answers, laying the book in his lap as he crosses his arms over his chest.

                  “Not quite. Why New Orleans? And what is ‘ephedrine’?” Ray asks, crossing his arms, mocking Gee with doing so. Gee scoffs, and stares at Mikey who is on his phone, probably searching up what ‘ephedrine’ are. He rolls his eyes at his brother and Ray, and waits a few seconds before he answers the easy question.

                  “I loved New Orleans, because it’s one city full of crime beside Detroit and New York City, but those didn’t rhyme. And ephedrine is a special chemical used for patents with hypotension, or low blood pressure. _So_ , Helena died from loss of blood from either too much blood sucking from the vampires, or the vampires killed her with a knife under she was died from blood loss, maybe it was her knife. I didn’t think I would need to get into this much detail into the story, but all right then. May I continue now?” Gee retorts while Ray as the other two men nod with tons of enthusiasm. As Gee continues to sing his song, Gee can hear the almost inaudible whispers Ray speak to Mikey with:

                  _“Why are the songs so dark?”_

_“The plot is scary, almost.”_

_“All the murder and suicide is making me want to puke.”_

_“Where did he get these ideas in the first place?”_

_“Are these songs a sign to something that’s going to happen later?”_

_“Well, at least the songs are catchy.”_

_“I think we could use them.”_

_“Yeah, I can already spell the new comeback.”_

                  Gee didn’t seem to pay attention to the first part of what they said, it didn’t matter that much anyways – they were proud of him! Why? He’ll never know, but he didn’t seem to care. Maybe they were right, maybe his ideas and songs could land them a comeback – hopefully a comeback _tour_ ; all because of Gee and his suicidal thoughts. Thank God Gee picked up the pen and paper and not the razor and bottle of pills in his time of loneliness. Maybe his solitude could make a great impact on kids, but hopefully nobody would ever figure out the true meanings to each song. Nobody probably would, right? Yes, people had multiple assumptions, but were they even correct? As Gee finishes ‘Untitled’ (or ‘Give ‘Em Hell, Kid’ as the band companions voted on) he receives a huge cheer, and it’s all from his four friends. They keep shouting things like, “Comeback, here we come!” “Time to write some lyrics, huh Gerard?” and “You go, Gee! You better have more up your sleeve!” Gee has eleven more songs ‘up his sleeve’ (and all of them dark) and he is ready to sing all of them, and for denigration. He licks his lips, and flips one other page.

                  “This one is called ‘To The End’. It’s when the male becomes depressed and lonely and starts to imagine the female in real life, everywhere he goes. He hears her voices, he sees her face, he feels her long silk dress she died in and he senses her presence. Enjoy,” Gee announces before he bursts into song. Frankie doesn’t even listen to the song, just the words – why did the woman remind him so much of himself?


	5. 4: Could I? Should I?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘Sometimes the temptation is so strong, I can’t seem to fight it anymore; I need it.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for this chapter. And the next one. Cry cry. I cry for you. I cry for you in the near future. I'm a really horrible person, ugh.

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                  **_4: Could I? Should I?_**

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Gee walks in front huge vanity, gawking at his reflection while fixing his bulletproof vest and his hair along with it. He flips his murky hair out from in front of his eyes. Once he’s satisfied with his appearance, he steps away from the mirror, as Frankie quickly replaces where he was just once standing. Gee just watches Frankie’s facial expressions and the way his body moves as he adjusts his red tie, then steps away onto Gee’s foot. It looked accidental, but Frankie was really just trying to start a conversation with Gee beside hello’s and what’s up’s. Gee watches his shoe-covered foot for a second, then up into Frankie’s eyes. He forces a smile, and then finally allows a seductive smirk to appear on his face. Frankie smirks back, knowing that that could be dangerous, but he doesn’t seem to care. He’s either lost in the moment, or he doesn’t think before he does, but he _knows_ whatever Gee could’ve envisioned that smirk meant. It looked evil; it looked sinister, as if he was planning to do something just that.

                  “Are you ready, Gee?” Frankie questions, sipping a drink from his beer in his hand; it makes Gee’s mouth water. He’ll have one in a few minutes, but just as the right time; he knows every time when it’s the perfect time. Frankie sees Gee staring at his beer can, so he tries to hide it behind his back. Gee just laughs at his fail, as he bites his nails, of stress and enticement. Frankie runs his tongue over his bottom lip as he thinks shortly, looking around the entire dressing room. He is ecstatic and he can’t wait to be on stage once again in almost two and a half years. Today is the first stop of their Life On The Murder Scene Tour – or otherwise known as their comeback tour. It’s been exactly two months after they released their second album, Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge, as it’s been selling beautifully. According to their fan base, they’ve been requested to do a comeback tour, and being the weak men they are, they happily agreed – and because they love going on tour.

                  “More than ever, Frank,” Gee responses, continuing to rip the loose skin in between his nails. Frankie smile a fake one and walks away from a highly fatigued Gee, as he walks over to a crew manager, who quickly engage in conversation about which side of the stage he’s supposed to enter on and exit on. He nods his head to everything the man says, as he tries to understand, but he honestly don’t comprehend a thing.

                  “5 minutes to stage call,” The loudspeaker calls, making Gee disappear into his personal dressing room. He cocks his head right and left, checking to make sure Frankie wasn’t following him, as well as anyone else. He makes his way to his little stash of pills and alcohol, in his brown, leather box in the corner hidden under the desk where no one would care to check. He turns his head again, left and right then back again until he actually releases the metal clasp after he’d lifted the box onto the desk that it was placed under. He finds the original contents of the box safely secured the box, exactly how he left it last time. He grabs the full bottle of Xanax, and pours himself four or five pills. He grips the Vodka bottle, and drinks less than one-fourth of the once-full bottle and stuffs both back into the chest, and hides it in a different hiding spot than the last – behind one of the couches. Who in their right mind would look behind there? Gee keeps the pills in his hands, as he empties from the room suspiciously with the same stupid and seductive smirk on his face. Frankie gives him a weird look, but it interrupted by being shoved by the same stage manager.

                   “Get to your side of the stage, _now_! It’s going to be starting thirty seconds!” The man shrieks, shoving his out the door, as Frankie runs to his side of the stage. Once he reaches there, Frankie is eying Gee bigger and more apprehensive than ever before. He knows he is hiding something, specifically in his hands. The same man sees Gee, not in position, and pushes him to the stairs where he’s supposed to step onto the reach the stage – he can see Frankie perfectly from his angle. He’s exactly across the backstage from him, but Gee seems to pretend he can’t see him. Gee remembers the pills in his hand, and that he must eat them now, so he shoves them down his throat, all of them, in one gulp, making Frankie’s eyes stick out of his head. He yells things like, “Gerard! Stop!” and “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Frankie and both Gee what could happen if he becomes stoned and high on pills – bad, bad things, and the worst part is outside are thousands of teenagers that look up to Gee, expecting to see the broad role model they think he is, but he really is a drunken no-life, who spends his free time getting drunk and slamming his head against his bedroom wall, regretting everything he’s ever done in his entire life. Yes, role model material. But with the criticized looks Frankie is giving him, he can feel the pressure on his shoulders, but he knows he made the right decision. He will now be the ‘real Gerard Way’. He can only be the ‘real Gerard Way’ with large amounts of drugs and alcohol. Before Frankie can blab to a security guard about what he just had seen, he hears Mikey and Ray begin to play ‘You Know What They Do Guys Like Us In Prison’, so he runs onto stage, hoping that none of the fans noticed. After a few beats, Gee walks onto stage, and winks at Frankie suggestively, making Frankie uncomfortable. It is obvious the pills and slight overdose of alcohol had already kicked in. When Frankie accidentally happens to walk next to Gee, he trips him. When Frankie expects an apology, Gee just begins to sing the first lyrics:

                  “ _In the middle of a gunfight, in the center of a restaurant_ ,” Gee sings, stepping harshly on Frankie’s foot while continuing to sing the lyrics beautifully. The fans… they just think its some sort of act, but Mikey and Ray know it’s not. They know what’s happening, but they are too stunned in the moment to think of anything other than their bass and guitar notes to play. Everyone knows, that this is just the start of what Gee has in store for an unprepared Frankie this performance.


	6. 5: Don't Stop If I Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘You leave me craving for more.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like this chapter. Just saying, the next few chapters will be a little different, so don't get too close to this theme or whatever. Thanks for reading!

 

                  **_5: Don’t Stop If I Fall_**

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“They say, ‘Come with your arms raised high!’ But they’re never going to get me; I’m like a bullet through a flock of doves. To wage this war against your faith in me.”

                  Gee roams the entire stage, peeking at Frankie now and then, giving him suggestive and eerie looks; even the audience and other band mates can sense the severity and fretfulness given off of Gee, and Frankie. Everyone can _see_ Frankie sing with gritted teeth on his background vocals into the microphone; they can see Frankie sneak a peek at Gee and where he is at all times and if he’s looking at him, which he usually is. It’s getting harder and harder for Frankie to try to play his chords _and_ keep a close eye on an unsafe and drugged Gee at the same time. Gee slowly walks Mikey’s direction, and when he reaches Mikey, he pulls his left arm and slings it around his neck. It looks like he is choking him from afar. Gee turns his entire body toward Mikey, leveling his eyes with Mikey’s: they say _please_. _I need help._ But why would he need help? Wasn’t he perfectly fine?

                  “Your life will never be the same!”

                  Gee rotates his body to where his body is right next to Mikey’s; their hips are principally touching. Unexpectedly, Gee cups his entire right hand over Mikey’s mouth as he pulls his neck under his arm. Mikey continues to breathe through his nose, but because of fear, he starts to strange from Gee’s reach. The entire crowd is alarmed as well as everyone on stage and backstage. I mean; you usually didn’t see the lead singer of your favorite band strangulate his brother while performing a song that involves bloodcurdling themes of murder. Once Frankie slowly walks over there, still mastering all of his chords, he releases Gee’s robust grip on Mikey’s mouth, which had started to bleed. The crowd was gasping and pulling out their cell phones, anxious to take videos and pictures of them – this would be perfect to post on their blog somewhat. Gee resembles a displeased look at Frankie, as he makes his way to the front of the stage to greet and high-five fans in the front row. Frankie stays next to Mikey, as the two continue to play their instruments. Ray is ongoing to give them questionable looks on what just happened. They laugh inaudibly as they start to develop startled and quieted conversation about Gee and his outrageous behavior.

                  “On, your, mother’s, eyes say a prayer. Say a _prayer_.”

                  Gee is now on the opposite side of where Frankie and Mikey stand, shivering in fear on stage left. Gee winks at Frankie, again, lingering his right index finger upward, gesturing from to come there. Frankie tremors, shaking his head enthusiastically, trying to tell Gee he’d rather not. _Why wouldn’t Frankie want to be with Gee? Hadn’t they made up already?_ Gee loves not being stressed from Frankie’s attention; now he has the undivided attention he’s wanted a couple years from Frankie. All eyes were on him, at least, right? That’s Gee would’ve wanted and could’ve gotten with the amount of stupid decisions and reactions and _actions_ Gee has been making the entire time he’s seen Frankie. After time, Gee reaches the chorus, his favorite part.

                  “Now, but I can’t, and I don’t know. How we’re just two men as God had made us. Well I can’t, well I _can_!”

                  Gee is up again with the fans, grabbing their hands and singing to them; they seem happy and satisfied on the façade, but on the interior, they’re worried as hell about Gee, about what he could have done to them. Right now, he doesn’t have a sense of what he is doing, and he isn’t thinking. The only thing he can remember is the librettos, where he is, and whom he’s with. He knows he’s with Frankie, Mikey and Ray and that they are at a concert. He can remember everything that’s going on and that has happened in the last hour or two. He knows what songs he’s singing, he just can’t think of any logical actions for him to do.

                  “To much to late or just enough of this.”

                  Gee has now released from the crowd’s wandering hands to where Frankie is massively stroking his guitar strings. He knows what he wants, and he’ll happily achieve it in a minute or two. And Frankie knows what it is also, according to the next few lines, it’s pretty relevant. It’ll probably be the most relevant thing he’s done in a month or so. But sure enough, Frankie is far from right in this situation. He stands next to him, placing the hand he isn’t holding his microphone with on Frankie’s shoulder, resting all his weight on Frankie’s left shoulder.

                  “Pain in my heart for your dying wish.”

                  _Here, here it comes, Gerard. Just do it; ignore the fan base. Ignore your family. Ignore Frankie’s fucking opinion; do it for you, and what you need. You’ve wanted his lips for a while, as much as he’s been dreading yours. Just do it, Gerard. You know you want to!_ Right at that moment, Gee’s resting arm releases from Frankie’s shoulder and falls to his side. He is now sectioned in front of Frankie, who is breathing usually heavy. Gee starts to lean in, colliding his lips with Frankie’s. Gee’s hands find its way to Frankie’s hair, which he uses to pull him closer. Their clothed chests crash, still kissing. Frankie, after seconds of hesitation, has kissed back, trying to not kiss rough or hard. Frankie’s arms have dropped completely from his instrument, now wrapped around Gee’s waist. After the break the bass and guitars were supposed to play, Gee releases and continues to the song regularly. He walks to the front of the stage once again. Mikey’s and Ray’s mouths are opened in shock, as well as the crowd’s and Frankie’s,

                  “They all cheat at cars and the checkers are lost. My cellmate’s a killer, they make me do pushups in…”

                  Gee watches Frankie closely as he crosses to the other side of the stage; he watches him engage in fearful conversation about what had just happened. Why was he so surprised? Why didn’t he pull away if he was scared? Why did he kiss back if he didn’t want it? Why did he seem so deep in the kiss if he didn’t like it? Was it a set-up? Is he trying to do all of this? Did he know what Gee was to do? The crowd is as scared of Gee now as much as Frankie, Mikey and Ray are.

                  “Drag… But nobody cares if I’m losing myself.”

                  Suddenly, everything made sense that night until now. The pills – the reaction to the pills, that adds up. The song – he’s basically telling everyone how miserable and suicidal he is in this song. I mean, there has to be a reason _this_ song was the first one. The kiss – of course, it could have been pertinent to the song, but it could have meant something else. There has to be another possibility, right? The next lyric is mysteriously sung toward the crowd, but it’s spoken, as if he’s actually asking the question. It was supposed to be rhetorical, or what the crowd thought, but he asked it as a real question. He wanted to know; is that too much to ask?

                  “Am I losing myself?”

                  After all this time, nobody has missed a beat or chord _or_ the melody, except at the kissing incident involving Frankie and he had to release his instrument to kiss back. Hmm, romantic, isn’t it? After two lines, Gee sings his favorite part, now turned toward Frankie and Mikey, who are still whispering terrified. Everyone knew why he wrote the line – no one just ‘accidentally’ adds a song lyric about murder in an album about murder where the entire band is stereotyped as murderers – there must be some sort of reason. Gee always said that every one of his songs had a motivation and a story behind them.

                  “Or lethal injection? Or swing from a rope if you dare? _Oh_ , nobody knows all the troubles I’ve seen.”

                  Frankie and Mikey step back, unknowing that that lyric was in the song. Gee turns his head their direction, and smiles sinisterly at them. He loves seeing them squirm just when he looks at them; his menacing and spine-chilling cackles make them collapse in each other’s arms. (Then of course release after they realize what just happened.) He loves feeling in control – once again. Gee repeats the chorus, eyes still glued on Frankie as he sings the background vocals – why does he have to look so cute while doing so?

                  “To your room when they ask of you. They’ll make you want to stay.”

                  His finger accidentally points at Frankie, whose eyes aren’t even on Gee anymore. Just a few seconds ago, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of him – in a bad way – and now he wasn’t? Was he just staring at something else? Or is he just too scared to look Gee right in the eye? Gee wants to think it’s the first question, but everyone, even him, knows what the _real_ answer is. I mean, when Frankie strokes the guitar strings, his entire body trembles, Gee can hear his teeth chattering, and his foot is tapping – even Gee knows what that means. He’s scared out of his fucking mind for his life – is it still romantic?

                  “’So long…’ But I don’t remember. _Why remember_?”

                  Oh shit, now it’s the guitar and bass solo; everyone knows this is Gee’s chance to do whatever the fuck he’s been planning to do. As he says the final words before their solo, he shrugs his shoulders – again, it must be a real question. Hmm, ‘why remember’? Hmm. That sounds a lot like the exact thought Gee thought before he developed cataleptic on the floor the day the band reunited. Why should he remember Frankie? Why should he remember Frankie and all their sweet memories, horrible memories and everything in between? Why should he remember his brother and all the shit he caused him? Why should he remember all the torture he put Mikey’s and his parents through? Why should he remember Lindsey and Bandit and how many questions he dodged from them? Why should he remember those vile months he kept Frankie a detainee? Why should he remember the brief time period when he was a fiend? Why should he remember his atrocious few years in art school where he screwed everything up? Why should he remember any of the faces of the people who he’s cares so much for but have never felt the same way? Why remember the faces of people who he’s never cared for? Why should he remember anything? Why should he remember his hell of a life? He doesn’t even want to live in it anymore – so why remember?

                  Gee turns away from Frankie, who has still not stared back at him, and to the audience. Now it’s time to talk to the audience apart from his advantageous lyrics. He wants to just plain speak with them – but not about anything that happened at the concert. Well, maybe a little, maybe a lot. Maybe none at all, who knew? Gee’s face stays the same bland expression as he follows his footsteps to center stage. There, the lights, they are on him, as well as every eye and every video camera. He breaks into a nervous sweat, and it’s not because of the uncomfortable lights beating on his face. Well, it could have helped a tad.

                  “Hello, New Jersey! Our first show, wow, this is fucking crazy, thank you so much! I would like to say a few things, starting with Frank Iero,” Gee points to Frankie, who turns his head to Gee, fast. His eyes are huge, as if he’d been wanting Gee to say anything other than his name. Yes, a comment about the song and a quote about reuniting would have been fine, but anything than bringing Frankie into this train wreck of a situation. The crowd murmurs to themselves while Gee clears his throat, cracks his knuckles and lick his lips.

                  “He’s a special guy, honestly. I’ve known him a long time and we’ve been through so many memories and…err… situations. You’re the best guitar player I know and I love you man!” As Ray slouches in disappointment, Gee hugs Frankie from behind. Frankie hugs back, but it looks like more of a forced hug than a passionate hug. Mikey walks over the comfort a heartbroken Ray, rubbing his arm awkwardly. Gee smiles and kisses his cheek as the crowd gasps, but it’s a good gasp this time. They would have cried out if Gee didn’t release and interrupt them with more of his speech.

                  “And, I’d like to say, thanks for being here and… happy fucking birthday!” Then, at that, Gee collapsed onto the floor. The first row backed up as he fell, screaming and pulling out their smart phones to snap a picture. Oh, that’s low and cruel.  The security guards blocked every angle of Gee they could so the fans wouldn’t have to see a bloody and tortured Gee. The paramedics amble Gee onto a stretcher then push him backstage. As the security guards are calm as well as the fans, Frankie is a mess. He wants to scream at Gee that he’ll be okay, and also what a dick he’s been, but he can’t. He’s already gone, and he could be seriously hurt and there’s nothing that Frankie can do about it, as much as he wants to. _You could’ve saved him. Before the show, you could’ve asked him where he was going. You could’ve stopped him, but you didn’t. If he’s seriously hurt, this is all your fault. You are a major suspect, and you can do now is pray and regret every decision you’ve ever made. What’s wrong with you?_ Frankie thinks to himself, hitting his head with his right hand and cursing under his breath.

                  “This. Is. All. Your. Fault.” Frankie mutters, looking back to see what Ray and Mikey’s reactions are, but they aren’t there. They’re probably backstage, right? But after seconds, his vision blurs to see Ray and Mikey there, then it fades back to a naked back wall. He rubs his eye, to regain Mikey and Ray there again, but it doesn’t work. Then, after thirty seconds, there they are, Mikey is wearing a sad expression. Before Frankie can see any more, they diminish back to nothing. Frankie squints, but they’re still not there. _Is this what it feels like to go crazy?_


	7. 6: She Wants It All To Come Down This Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm going a bit crazy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New setting, new point-of-view, and new conflict! I'm sectioning the point-of-views now, so I just hope y'all like it! Comment your theories, and what you think of Gerard right now. I'd LOVE to know! Well, bye!
> 
> xo,  
> Amanda

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                  **_6: She Wants It All To Come Down This Time_**

**** _‘I think I’m going a bit crazy.’_

When I wake up, I’m shoved in a white corner; well, what I can see of it. The lights are dimmed, and when I try to look around, either a rope or a very strong human being forcefully pulls my head back. At that, I am completely mortified. Why was I here? What had happened? I don’t remember a thing that I could have done to land me here. Was I in a hospital? Was I in a, more specifically, mental hospital? No, no, I couldn’t be here again. I am fine and well balanced! I don’t deserve to be here! I’m a perfectly modest and healthy person and I shouldn’t be here again. Hadn’t I recovered and that’s why I left? I didn’t need to return, I’d dread that more than anything else, and now I landed here? Haven’t I done enough effort and work to get out of that place only to be enrolled in it again? I might as well still be with the same ignorant nurses and my bothered doctors. I thought I was fine, that’s why I left in the first place, and I’m back – wow. How smooth Gerard, whatever you did, you screwed it up completely. Everyone has lost their faith in you, now they’ll be watchdogs over your ‘pour little useless soul’. But this isn’t their fault, as much as you wish it were, it’s not. What you did, it was pretty bad, but overall you did it. You caused this, all of this, and it’s nobody else’s fault more than it is yours. As easier as it is to blame another, it’s nicer to take the real blame yourself. Hell, I’m Gerard Way, I never feel guilt. Why should I start now? I force my head up, fighting the very strong force that attempts to lower me down each time and look around to see who’s behind me. Oh, it’s just my old therapist – wait, _it’s just my old therapist_.

                  “Oh, good. You’ve awoken,” she begins, releasing her tight grip on my limbs, smiling a very weird and fake smile that makes me feel almost uncomfortable. I stare at her for a second; she is wearing those circular glasses that went out of styles a few days they came out with gold rimming and her usual white pharmacist jacket. Why do doctors always wear those jackets? Are they attempting to look cool? Because it obviously is not working for them. And who says ‘awoken’? It’s ‘Oh, you woke up!’ or ‘Hi. I was not watching you sleeping and being a total stalker and get paid for it.’ I mean, seriously, it’s a little uncomfortable watching people stare over you when they think you’re asleep. I need my own privacy, and you do too. I mean, how would you feel if I barged in your bedroom, sat the foot of your bed and just watched your chest lift and lower for hours on end? Yeah, it would feel a little weird, wouldn’t it? If you wouldn’t like it done to you, don’t do it! You’re not fulfilling anything mandatory or anything while be being a stalker, so stop doing it for God’s sakes! Her cheeks are red, and they blow up like a balloon the bigger she smiles at me; it’s a little creepy. Someone put a little too much blush on this morning, huh? As you can see, I never liked this nurse. She was annoying, at what I can remember, and she always talks in a really high-pitched voice that is sure to drive you insane after a few weeks of talking to her. My face says solemn, because I don’t want her to know my thoughts; I’m one of those people who if I make one facial expression, gesture, or action, the whole world explodes. Her smile finally fades into a boring line as she continues her annoying conversation.

                  “Do you know where you are, Gerard?” She asks, helping me sit up. As that happens, I take it as my chance to finally look around the room. Hmm, it’s white. And when I say white, I mean _really_ white: the walls, the furniture, the beds, as well as everything else. Normal people don’t have this plain of a room; now I’m scared, for one, where I am, and two, how I landed here. Hmm, do I know where I am? You’re a therapist, or a doctor; I have no idea what she majored in in college. I never got to actually meet the lady doctor-thing. They just threatened that if I didn’t pass my test I would ‘suffer’ through one-on-one lessons, whatever, with her daily, but I never did. I passed my test, remember? But I always wondered what she was like. She seemed nice; she comes off with a really perky attitude and always wore too much pink. She would smile and wave to me in the halls when it called for lunch. She would call my name rarely and just wish me luck on my test and stuff. Again, she didn’t seem all that evil to watch me in my sleep, but never judge a person by their cover. Little do I know, she could be a murderer and passes herself as a doctor-therapist-thing to cover up her case? She could be anything for all I know. She could have had history in prison for anything that she’s bribed to be taken off her resume and personal record. Ooh, she could be a con artist. After I think of it, that’s pretty cool. That’s it, I’ll call her Conn-er, or Conner, from now on – well, since she’s a girl, I’ll call her Con-nie, or Connie. Hmm, Connie, that has a nice ring to it, but I wonder what her real name is. I wonder if it’s something boring like Judith or Margaret, or maybe something exciting like Julie or Emily; or maybe it’s something that a secret spy would have like Agent 87 or Andrea. Wow, maybe she’s a secret agent! Eh, after I think about it, it’s not that cool. So overall, I know where I am; the worst place on earth. Need I be any more specific or say anymore? And you’re about as bad; you work here. I must not get close to this woman; maybe if I make one slip-up, she’s cut my head off and savors it in her freezer to eat it later. She seems pretty dark and mysterious right now – maybe it’s my duty to get to know this woman better. Oh, and if she’s a murderer or a cannibal or a con artist or a secret spy or a therapist, I just hope she’ll answer the question of why it hurts for me to breath. I mean, it can’t be that hard right? She could just pull of the stethoscope, check the beat of my heart and see if it’s interfering anything, then if it is, she’ll choke me to death with her stethoscope. Hmm, that’d been a great movie title: Killer Therapist. Wow, and have a gun whose ammo is syringes. Ooh, if anyone gives me a sketchbook and a pencil, I have a perfect idea for a comic book character or series. I nod my head in a slow response, sending her in a moment of silence for her thoughts.

                  “You do? Did you know it’s the same hospital you were in before? Do you remember me?” She asks, crossing her legs in pure interest. I can just tell she’s interested – I mean, I bet more than half of the kids she stalks always answer no, but me, I’m different. I’ve always been a different human being, and that’s probably what’s landed me here, again. What even did I do? I don’t remember a thing, well a few things, but not anything recent. Or maybe it was recent, I just can’t remember. Every time I just to image something that will help me, I see bright lights that fade to black and yelling. Why would I see brightness then darkness then ear-piercing shrieking? The last time I was checking, I was in some sort of room, but it looked smaller. I don’t remember much of that one, but it does the same thing again. I see bright lights then it fades black while some high shrieks play in the background. After all, who even shouts that high, because it obviously sounded like a boy? And the woman is still staring at me with her brown beady eyes like a hawk – now it’s just plain unsettling and disturbing. Who stares at a complete stranger like that? Well, almost complete stranger, technically. I nod three times, slowly, to gesture to her that every one of her question resembles a yes. Hmm, I wonder why I’m not speaking. My voice isn’t hoarse or dead or anything; my voice is perfectly fine, but I just don’t feel like speaking today I guess. I probably will tomorrow, or the next day, or the next day. She smiles and marks something on her clipboard. Wow, I never noticed she had a clipboard. When did she have a clipboard? I was probably too caught up in her creepiness that I forgot to check her hands. I usually never check peoples’ hands unless it’s extremely important, or something of the sort.

                  “Oh, wow, that’s interesting. Do you know why you’re here?” Connie asks, again, positioning her right hand perfectly so when I answer her question, she doesn’t have to position it again; it’s right there. Hmm, how convenient is that? That would be a great sketchbook technique: I position my hand exactly where I wish to put my character of desire, and while I’m picking how I want the character to look, my hand is waiting there patiently to be used and scribbled with. Wow, that’s not such of a bad idea. I could use that. I’ll call the technique the ‘Killer Therapist Method’. And I named it off Ms. Stalker over here because she thought of it first, so the only logical and nice thing for me to do is to repay her and give her credit for her idea, if it was her idea. I wonder if she copied the idea off someone also, to trick me to think she’s not as original as I thought she was.  Um, cough, con artist, cough. See? But if she is a con artist, she is as original as I thought she was, because nobody in his or her right mind would volunteer to be a fucking con artist. It’s mere human logic, Connie. But on the topic of her question, no, I do not. Do I wish I did? Well, I don’t know if I do, to be honest, but yes, it would be kind of nice to know why I’m stuck in a mental hospital; and to be specific, this mental hospital. It’s possibly the worst mental hospital in the entire world on terms of memories and staff. I shake my head in response once again, sending her burying her nose in her clipboard, writing away all of her theories hypothesizes and notes. This must be for something in the future – I just know this. Like I said, I know things. Well, I don’t just _know_ them. It takes hours of evidence all building and swelling up in my cramped head – or in this case, minutes.

                  “Does a concert and a broken ribcage help you remember?” Connie inquires, scanning me indefatigably; again, it’s very uncomfortable. Does she love to make guys, much like me, uncomfortable just by her look? Because it’s surely working on me. Dear God Connie. But wait, broken ribcage? Oddly, but mouth falls to where my chin once was as I feel the awkward cast on my torso area. How did I break my ribcage, because that normally doesn’t happen? God, whatever I did, it was _super_ bad, considering I hurt myself while doing so. Wait, did I hurt anyone else while doing whatever I was doing? Did I hurt feelings, flesh, _anything_? I probably did, whatever it was. I probably hurt someone I loved, and it most likely wasn’t on the epidermis. I probably ruptured their heart pretty badly, despite the number of punches I probably threw at them. Whatever I did, it was horrible, horrible thing, and that’s how I landed here. But, I recognized this room; the harder I look at it, the more familiar it becomes. When I first came to this hospital, the nurses took me on a trip to every room in the hospital, despite the patients’ bedrooms. They just assumed everyone knew that they needed privacy. And this part was in the… criminally insane section of the hospital. Yes, that’s it! Oh shit, the _criminally insane_. I, me, myself, little poor weak innocent is here in the worst section of a mental hospital you can be in. hmm, maybe I am insane. I don’t _feel_ insane; I feel normal, how I do everyday. Maybe I’ve been insane all along! Okay, this is good; this is great in fact, to finally know I’m not the same as everyone else. It’s great to know I’m criminally insane, as many times I’ve predicted it. Wow, wait until Mikey hears about this – where is Mikey? The last time I saw him, he was right next to me, holding something. It was slung around his shoulder to steady it. It was big and black – the height of a desk, at most; one of those really short desks that are kind of the height of a two-year-old child. Did I mention it was black? And the look he has giving me wasn’t good; it wasn’t good at all. It made me feel guilty, as if I did something wrong, but I could barely make out his face with something bright illuminating on his precious face. What even was that? All of this thinking is really annoying me; do the criminally insane think at all or is that forbidden too? As well as knives, lighters, ropes, pills, and alcohol – oh no. Please don’t tell me this, Conscience. Don’t tell me what I think you’re telling me. I’d rather live without it than hear the real reason why I’m institutionalized and have a shattered ribcage. I can live without this answer for once. Why can’t I just allow Connie to answer it for me? It’ll be much less painful.

                  “No? Hmm, maybe this will,” Connie answers, shoving a series of photographs in front of my face. As she does so, I debate whether to grab them or wait for her to force me to grab them, but I just clutch them anyways. I pull them to closer then farther from my face, half-scared that it’ll blow up in my face. Hey, I never crossed off con artist or secret spy off her list of possible occupations that she has secretly. After I built up enough courage to look at photos, I display them easily in front of my eyes. And yet again, my mouth falls to where my chin once was. It’s me, on stage, at a concert. It looks current, but I can swear I’ve never remembered taking any one of these pictures. I’ve never remembered being on stage since My Chemical Romance…wait. Don’t tell me, Conscience. Don’t tell me I made the horrific mistake of getting My Chemical Romance back together. Oh please, please, _please_. No, I probably did. Me, being the annoying and ignorant jackass I am. I probably wasn’t listening or I was drunk. Oh fuck no. This _couldn’t_ have happened. That’s why I don’t remember anything, or it’s because I fell off of the stage, and, um, cracked my ribcage. I think I’ve gotten that point across enough. The second picture is much, much worse than the others, who are just pictures of me singing the front row of the crowd. In this one I’m strangling Frank. Why would I be strangling Frank? Why would he still be in the band if I’ve been such an ass to him? I think my ‘ass behavior’ must stop now. Here, I have a clean slate from my horrific past. Hey, maybe this hospital won’t be so bad. I shove the pictures back to her, with the same unelaborated expression on face. She smiles then switches it to a confused look, at why I didn’t look at all the pictures. Did she honestly think I was going to?  I mean, I’d rather not, if I had the choice anyways. She’ll probably show me the pictures anyway, because she hopes I’d forgotten about them.

                  “Hmm, don’t want to look at them, I see? Well, just let me show you this one, ask you some questions and we don’t have to discuss what’s on the photograph any longer – I promise,” she bribes, flipping through the array of at least ten photographs. This is very intriguing, and even if it weren’t, I had no choice. I know how this hospital system works. You don’t have an opinion in what you get. It’s completely unfair. We are insane; we expect our way or no way at all. We’re _different people_ , apparently, so shouldn’t we be treated at ‘different people’? We get different attention; we get different food; we get a different amount of attention, but we don’t receive a different way of treating? We even get different looks at places for God’s sakes! We are different people, as people stereotype as, so shouldn’t we be treated like our so-called stereotype? It’s just plain rude, and we don’t feel any attention; the attention that every one of the ‘different people’ long for. If we are going to be stereotyped as so, why not embrace it? Maybe of the criminally insane patients that I know never learn to embrace it. They deny it, saying that they’re normal, when they really aren’t. But me, I just have learnt to accept it although I only learnt it a few minutes ago. Anyways, why aren’t there any clocks in this room? The Criminally Insane likes to know the time too, you know. We aren’t different from the rest of the world, well, maybe a little. Okay, maybe a lot, but we don’t have different interests. Well, just the normal stuff, like eagerly wanting to know what time it is, for example. But should I start capitalizing The Criminally Insane when I speak inside my head or I write? Isn’t it a proper noun? I shake my head violently as she pulls the last picture to my display. She just laughs threateningly as I frightfully gasp. No, this couldn’t have happened, again. How many shitty decisions and things did I do that one night?

                  “Look at it; analyze it; and when you’re done, tell me. I have a couple of… _autopsies_ to ask you based on the photo,” Connie states, watching and marking down all my facial expressions. It’s a bit irritating, but it didn’t bother me much. I am too focused on the horrible photograph in front of my eyes. I cup my hand over my opened mouth in shock; I grab the picture from her strong fingertips and bring it to my chin level, enough for me to not tilt my head down or upward that much. In this one, I was kissing Frank. But no, it doesn’t stop there. His arms are awkwardly draped around my waist; they are fucking off of his guitar. I mean, we are in the middle of a session, and he cared enough about the kiss and about me to let go of his guitar, the one thing he knew he needed to hold onto, to hold me. Okay, that’s a little sweet; okay, it’s a lot sweet, but it doesn’t change how he feels about me. Doesn’t he hate me? I’m a demon trapped inside a human’s body; that’s all I am. But what I’m doing is strangely uncharacteristic; I’m tugging his hair, pushing it closer to my face so I can reach his lips and kiss him harder. But that’s a little ironic. Frank is literally nine inches shorter than me. Did he grow? Maybe he did. Hmm. I haven’t seen him in a long time… oh wait, I did.

                  “Done? All right then, question time. Gerard, are you gay?” She questions. Oh, I don’t like this question. I don’t like her. I don’t like her questions. Why is she trying to barge into my personal business? So, what if I am gay? Is that bad? Wait, it is. Is it? But why would she ask me that? Isn’t it kind of obvious? I’m kissing the same fucking gender for crying out loud; it’s not rocket science, Connie. Connie is making me think that she isn’t really a doctor. Doctors are smart; con artists are not. Coincidence? I think not. And I know she knows that I always spoke of Frank when I was in here last time. She knows that! Someone doesn’t just change their sexual orientation every five seconds, lady. God dammit. Maybe I’d be suitable for a doctor, because I’m surely smarter than this so called doctor over here. She’s pretty stupid. (Sorry, Connie.) Well, if I wanted to be a doctor, I would, but I don’t. I’m an author and artist, and former singer. Well, My Chemical Romance is back together, so I suppose I’m just a singer? I’m just really confused right now. I nod, and slowly shrug my shoulders afterward. She scoffs at me and writes a few things on her clipboard. Oh God, that clipboard is very bothersome and official. I hate it.

                  “Okay. It’s not bad or any – Why are you staring at me like that? Okay, we are done for today. You are obviously tired or hungry,” Connie checks the watch on her hand. Hey! Why don’t we get cool watches like that? They look like a secret spy’s watch – she sucks at covering up her secret jobs. I’ve cracked your secret, Connie. It’s over. Just give it up, already! She smiles at her watch; that’s weird, but I’m not one to judge a book by its cover. No, I’m totally kidding, hell yeah I am.

                  “Now it’s approximately time for lunch. Perfect timing.” Connie says, helping me down from my bed, which I just now realize is a gurney. It’s actually not that comfortable anymore. She walks to the hidden door; like, literally, it’s fucking hidden inside the wall. They hid it because they painted the door white as the same shade of white they painted the walls. How cruel. She guides me out of the room, which I assume must be my room, and to the front desk, which I hope to introduce me to everyone. Where is Alison? Connie and the attendants exchange a few words that I don’t care enough to remember as she walks to me to the cafeteria. Whoa, the cafeteria is big. Like, when I say big, I mean huge; gigantic. Well, not _big_ or _huge_ or _gigantic_ , but it’s a fair size for a cafeteria is all, I guess I exaggerate when I haven’t seen something in a while or at all. She guides to me to this table with a guy at it; he looks weird. He has yellow/white hair, and the same color as a beard. He squints his eyes all the time; someone should really give him some glasses. He looks like a professional creep, and that’s exactly what he is. I think. She sits me down next to the creep, and as she starts to walk off, she explains why.

                  “Talk to Bob. You need a friend here,” She replies, walking off. No, don’t leave me alone with the stalker! And his case isn’t helping, because his name is supposedly Bob. Who’s fucking name is Bob? Nobody! That’s obviously his stage name, it’s his masked murderer’s name. Ooh, maybe he’s a stalker who stalks people, and when he becomes really good friends with them, he murders them! This guy is pretty cool, and pretty gory. Very gory, actually, but it doesn’t bother me. It will bother me when he tries to murder me. Connie is trying to kill me. They have a pact that I don’t know about. Ugh, she sacrificed me. I never really liked Connie. Maybe his real name is The Murdering Pursuer, or something like that. The Murdering Pursuer sounds gory, that’ll work. I’ll call him The Murdering Pursuer until he tells me to stop.

                  “So. We are supposedly supposed to become friends. Well. I’m Bob, who are you?” The Murdering Pursuer asks me, making me feel majorly uncomfortable. Why should I tell a murderer my name? Well, he probably already knows if he’s a stalker and all. After I almost inaudibly murmur my name, he chuckles. What’s so funny about my name? Is it really that embarrassing? Hey, yours is Bob, so I wouldn’t be talking. _And_ you’re a stalker _and_ a murderer, so that’s kind of worse than my name. But I’m nothing better. I’m a bad person, and I know it. And of course he knows it too, being a stalker and all.

                  “Well, _Gerard_ , I hope we will be great friends!” He hugs my shoulder then my entire torso. Ew, a stalker is touching me. Ew, I’m getting close to a murderer! No! I don’t want to die! I smack his hands away, lowering them in dismay. He mimics a pouty and sad face, crossing his arms over his chest. He starts to whimper strangely. Hey, maybe making friends here would be very hard.


End file.
